


I got the month of May

by lovespring



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Dating, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Music, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Romantic Fluff, Service Top, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Twink Tank, actual plot but the plot is dating, but the fun kind where there's 15k words of flirting and tension before the first kiss, named so by rohkuetta, small amount of hurt tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovespring/pseuds/lovespring
Summary: Steve scoffs and smiles down at Bucky - it looks mostly indulgent, and little pitiful, but Bucky will take that if nothing else. "You think you're real cute, don't you kid?"Yeah, that - that shouldn't feel as good as it does, sending sparks up his spine and the back of his neck."I think I'm doing alright."Steve juts his chin out. "Is that what you usually do? Roll your pretty eyes and half-ass a pick-up line?" Bucky’s reeling, but he’s not going to let the chance slip away.“You think my eyes are pretty?” Steve’s grin widens and Bucky is so fucking pleased to learn that Captain America takes teasing like a champ.





	I got the month of May

* * *

**_I don’t want to set the world on fire_ **

Captain _ fucking _ America walks into Bucky’s record store on a rainy Thursday evening, and Bucky doesn’t even realize it until he leaves again. There’s barely any people out, which in retrospect is probably why Captain _ fucking _America chose the day to go shopping for music. 

All he initially sees is a shady dude in a raincoat. He’s wearing sunglasses, indoors on a Thursday night, so naturally, Bucky’s first thought is _ jackass _ but then the guy unbuttons the coat and Bucky can see the shirt underneath, the damp fabric clinging to abs and pecs and collar bones so his second thought is _ stop staring _. 

“Hey, man.” He says and Sunglasses across the store nods.

“Evening.” Weirdo. 

“Let me know if I can help.”

He lets Sunglasses walk around by himself, fluttering over records like he doesn’t know where to start. Bucky can’t really take his eyes off him but he tries hard not to be creepy, so he busies himself with the record player next to the cash register, puts on something that fits with the rain and the quiet of the store. It’s a single, and Sunglasses jerks a little where he stands some aisles away - which Bucky only knows because he was watching his reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Never one to be controlled by tact or situational awareness, Bucky blurts out “Not a fan of the Ink Spots?” Sunglasses turns to face him, and recognition stirs in Bucky’s stomach, not quite there yet.

“It’s not that.” Sunglasses says, smiling. His voice is dark and politely amused. “I just didn’t know people were still listening to this.” Bucky arches an eyebrow, trying to discern if Sunglasses is insulting his taste in music or being a snob, but the guy turns back around, clearly ending the conversation. Bucky is zoning out, wordlessly mouthing along to the lyrics, his eyes trained somewhere on the other side of the window when Sunglasses comes up and puts four records on the counter. Elvis, Sam Cooke, Little Richard. Bucky wouldn’t have guessed fifties, but fair enough.

“Sound choices.” He says, gathering them up. “You starting a collection?” Sunglasses already has his wallet out, leafing through cash. 

“Doing homework.” He says, which is a little weird but Bucky goes with it.

He rings him up. “You don’t got internet?” It’s half a tease because his second nature is flirting and half not because he doesn’t want to be a dick, but the guy laughs, a scratchy, boyish laugh from his chest that makes Bucky a little warmer in his long sleeves and a little thoughtful with memory. 

“I do, big fan of it.” He puts some bills on the counter. “Old habits and all that, I guess.” Bucky looks up at him when he takes the money, probably to say something dumb and suggestive, but it wilts in his throat. Maybe it’s the light that allows him to see behind the darkness of the sunglasses, or just being closer to him now, but that is definitely, _ definitely _Steve Rogers. He doesn’t say anything out loud, just smoothly glides over the little hiccup he most likely showed on his face and finds the right amount of change.

“Right.” He squeezes out, cheeks hot. “I’m here every day but Saturday, Sunday and Monday if you need recommendations.”_ Abort, stop talking. _ People like the flirty thing, the easy-going camaraderie he has with customers, but Captain America might not be _ people _and he’s momentarily embarrassed, feeling warmer by the second. But the captain just smiles at him, buttons up his coat with one hand and takes the plastic bag full of records Bucky holds out for him with the other.

“That’s good to know.” He says with a smile Bucky can feel in his _ knees _ , then leaves the store while tonelessly humming along to _ Hey, Doc! _playing from the speakers.

He’s obviously known who Captain America was since before he came back to save the world. Back when the sky split open and rained down what a lot of people called Hell for a pretty long time. And armageddon, too, and the apocalypse, and atonement. And Bucky supposes it makes sense - there’s enough trauma recovery programs centered around dealing with what happened in 2012. A blast that smelt of charcoal and burnt rubber blew out the glass front of Vanguard’s Vinyls, and cut tiny bleeding grooves along his face that left a dusting of scars next to his ear - it took him half a year to get back, pushing down tense, shivery feelings in his chest whenever he got near a glass window. So, yes, trauma. But Bucky doesn’t believe in hell, partially because he got into Nietzsche in high school, but also because whatever rained down from the sky looked and felt a lot more like alien invasion than fire and brimstone. And if judgement day really had to come to New York - and only New York, which is another thing - they probably wouldn’t have been saved by a group of superheros.

The _ Avengers _. Indisputable and powerful, a team of six that did what the combined armed forces of the US apparently failed to do. That’s another thing to get used to.

They’re not really in the public eye. Tony Stark is verified on twitter, obviously. Bruce Banner has one too, but mostly for academic purposes. They appear on TV a couple of times, after destroying three blocks of real estate, or keeping The Bad Guys from destroying even more blocks of real estate and it’s mostly faceless nobodies, in darks suits but after a while Tony Stark took over with his playboy charisma, and started sharing podiums and improvised press conferences with Captain America. _ Steve Rogers _ , the guy Bucky read about in sixth grade history, a 1940’s war hero, an Orthodox historian heart-throb, the epitome of patriotism, supporter of the American dream, every blood-redded American boy’s role model - which, fair enough. But Bucky mostly remembers looking at a picture of him in an ordinary soldier’s uniform, starched and stiff across his chest, shy, sepia-toned smile directed at someone behind the camera and thinking _ oh _ and _ oh no _and going home to have serious, genuine self-reflection for the first time in his life as a twelve year old. 

Realistically he can’t be the only millennial dude in the US who realized some serious _ Things _about themselves because of Steve Rogers’ upper back muscles. But he might be the only one who’s been in a room with him, alone, with heavy rain outside and “I don’t want to set the world on fire” playing on an amplified record player, and he blew it. He’s not sure what would’ve happened - although he fantasizes a bit. About Nat King Cole records, and leaning over the cash register to take off the sun glasses, see those eyes up close. Winking at him across the store, playing coy, writing his number on a receipt, as if he would ever be that fucking brave in front of Captain America who was probably, obviously, tragically heterosexual. He spends a few days sulking about it, and doesn’t tell his sister when she asks him how work is - because it feels like a secret, almost, or like a dream, something sacred and untouchable.

And then Captain America comes back to him. Again. And _ again. _

** _Near you_ **

It’s mostly on dark days, late on the hour. Rain doesn’t scare New Yorkers in general, but it also doesn’t make them want to shop around. If Bucky has customers when he comes in, he’ll go to the back, surprisingly light on his feet for a dude who could probably bench-press Bucky a good handful of times. He wants to avoid people. He’s still buying 60s music, probably going off of recommendations, and Bucky can’t help but find it stupid and endlessly charming that he insists on spending money on overpriced vinyls when the internet exists. He also can’t help but notice that his coworker never mentions Captain America coming in on _ her _shifts.

One day, Bucky’s selling a Sting album to a teenage girl, and Rogers is in the elevated back across from the cash register, trying to blend in between records and walls. He’s doing a decent job, stupid upper back muscles considered. When the girl leaves, Bucky waits a second or two before calling out to Captain America camouflaging himself in the corner.

“All clear.” He says, voice carrying over the music. He’s stayed on his 40s trip, trying to not think about what that means to Captain America being in his store. _ Boogie-woogie bugle boy _seemed nice at the time, a little like a joke. Steve Rogers turns around, a little sheepish, and comes back down to stand behind the racks of records in the middle of the room.

His hands are clasped behind his back but Bucky can see movement, like he’s fidgeting. “Thanks.” He says. Then he reaches up and takes off his sunglasses and Bucky feels like his heart is gonna crawl out of his throat. He’s not a _ fan _of Captain America, really, outside of general appreciation for the superhero thing. He’s a bit of a cynic and not that patriotic, but - Steve Rogers just seems like a good fucking guy and he’s so pretty Bucky wants to cry a little. Rogers’ eyes, off-blue in the yellow light, crinkle up in a smile and Bucky grins back, mindless. “They usually ask for pictures and I don’t want to say no.”

Bucky waves one hand and rests his chin in the other, leaning on the counter. “Can’t blame you. You’re kind of a hotshot.” Rogers grimaces a little, and even though he brought it up himself Bucky gracefully backtracks, drumming his fingers against his temple. “So, what are you after today?” Rogers seems happy that he asked, and immediately pats himself down to fish out a slightly crushed flipbook from an inner pocket. He moves around the rack to come closer to Bucky, leafing through it.

“Right.” He says. “Okay. You know I - you know how I’ve been, uh - catching up on things.” Bucky nods, stupidly charmed, and Rogers gives a boyish little grin. The dude is technically like ninety, Bucky fails and fails again to remind himself. “I’m working my way through the fifties. My friend recommended this place.” Bucky doesn’t remember seeing any Avengers in his store, but he supposes that one, the captain can have other friends and two, some of them are trained agents and Bucky didn’t even recognize who Steve was the first time around. “I got Willie Mae Thornton, Nina Simone. Uh, Ray Charles.” Bucky nods, getting up. He thinks, idly, that whoever recommended Captain America music from the fifties and sixties were either black or well educated or both.

“I got you.” He says, crossing to the other side of the room, up the few wide steps to the open back. The records are sorted into decades and genres, but people move them around a lot, slot them in where they aren’t supposed to be. Ray Charles is easy to find, though. “What about The Andrews Sisters? They were a post war thing.” He asks absentmindedly, picking between two different Ray albums. He turns around when he doesn’t get an answer. Rogers is standing with his arms crossed, head tilted back. 

“Kid,” he says, and Bucky freezes, “The Andrews Sisters were on the radio when I enlisted.” He looks a little too satisfied with having the upper hand, so Bucky doesn’t blame him the slightly condescending tone - and tries not to blame himself the shivers it puts in his lower back, _ for the love of God, get it together, Barnes - _“And they’re not bad.” Rogers nods towards the record player. “The German’s terrible, though.” Bucky grins, tucking the “Genius” album under one arm. He moves a little further back and Steve comes closer on careful feet. Bucky convinces himself not to make grabby hands.

“Aw, come on.” He says. “They tried their best.”

Rogers shakes his head insistently, still smiling. “‘Schön’ doesn’t rhyme with explain no matter how you twist it.”

“No?” He grins, smoothing past Rogers to put two records on the counter. On the way back, because he’s an idiot, Bucky looks up, a little too close: “I think it’s romantic. the ironic restriction of language, Rogers.” And then, to the tune of the song playing: “_Bei mir bist du schön, so kiss me and say you understand_.” He double times it back to the rack to find the last record, swallowing down regret. _Too fast_, he thinks, heating up. _Too forward_. Too gay, most likely, and he’s about to kick his, for lack of a better word, pride under the rug and apologize when Steve speaks up. 

“You know my name.” He says, and Bucky turns to look at him. He doesn’t look angry at all, not even uncomfortable. Dazed, mostly, and a little thoughtful. Bucky shrugs, still teetering on the edge of apologetic.

“I thought you - knew. That I knew.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling, thank god. “No,” he chuckles. “No, I mean - you know my name but I don’t know yours.” Oh. _ Oh _. Interesting development. Bucky swallows around nothing, and nods slowly, like Steve said something difficult to comprehend. 

“Bucky.” He says. “Well, James Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky.” Then, because he feels like he needs to do it properly with this guy, he takes the Simone album he was procrastinating with, and crosses the space between them, holding out a hand. “Bucky Barnes.” He says, and Steve smiles his wonky little grin when he takes it, lips parting easily to show white teeth. 

“Steve Rogers.” Bucky doesn’t say _ I know _, just shakes his hand. 

  
  


** _Lucky Lips_ **

Early summer crosses over into mid-summer, so there’s a limit to how much rain New York can get, and Bucky finds himself checking the forecast a little more zealously than before. He looks forward to seeing Steve now, in a proper butterflies-in-his-stomach way. Bucky can feel the not-quite-a-crush grow and morph into something a lot more sustainable, something quite-like-a-crush. Awful. The worst. He wants to shut it down, but Steve makes it so fucking difficult. He shows up about once a week now, or every other, whenever it’s cloudy, and always bright and early or just before closing time. They work their way through the fifties, and Bucky tries hard to balance it out, because he takes his job seriously, even when faced with customers of Steve Rogers-esque proportions. He sells him the big names, so Steve can educate himself on what everyone is still talking about today, but also smaller stuff like Ronnie Hawkins and Linda Lee.

(_ “You like OG rock and roll?” Bucky asks one day where the light outside looks like it’s gearing up for thunder. _

_ “I like something I can dance to.” _

_ “You dance, mr. Rogers?” _

_ “With the right partner.” That wonky smile again, and narrowed eyes, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Bucky’s blush doesn’t go away until Steve wishes him a good night. ‘Upstanding gentleman’ whatthefuckever.) _

Steve seems to like him, laughs at Bucky’s stupid observational humor, and it’s infinitely easy to forget the idolatry of the symbol he represents when donning his super-suit. Even though Bucky has questions about it, about Project Rebirth and the commandos, Brooklyn in the 20s and Peggy Carter, he’s more than fine with this, Steve smiling at him over the counter or slowly following in his footsteps while Bucky whisks around the store, talking and talking and talking about the birth of rock. God, he can’t wait until the 60s. 

So much of their time together is spent just talking about other things than music as well - Bucky on his chair behind the counter and Steve leaning towards him. Bucky tells him about the places to go in Brooklyn, the thai place next to his apartment, the street performers, the art. Steve adds little secrets from his time, about how much the world has changed for the better and Bucky clings on to those, ears perking up like a puppy every time Steve even hints at his life pre-war. Not as Captain America, but as Steve Rogers. Bucky had no idea he’d like him so much. 

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before their luck runs out and Steve is recognized. 

It’s actually kind of Steve’s fault, which makes Bucky stupidly happy. Because Steve breaks the unwritten rule and comes in on a day where there’s a barely a cloud in the sky. It’s early and Bucky knows he won’t get more than a few customers before twelve so he’s idly not-dancing around the middle of the store when Steve comes in, door-chime and all and Bucky stops dead in his tracks. He recovers quickly, doesn’t bother hiding his grin.

“This is a surprise.” He says, leaning his hip against the nearest rack. It’s a pretty good one, because Steve is just in a shirt today - it’s checkered, white and blue and a little boring, but the muscles under it, and the forearms revealed from the roll-ups make Bucky swallow compulsively. Jesus. They’re just forearms. Steve hooks the sunglasses in his collar and shrugs.

“Didn’t wanna wait for another rainy Tuesday to Friday.” He says, and _ that _hits Bucky in some sweet and rose-tinted spot behind his breastbone, makes him want to scuff the toe of his shoe against the ground. He just barely avoids it but he does say “aw, shucks” which makes Steve smile wider in turn. He comes closer into the shop and Bucky gives him a once-over, schooling his expression into something neutral when Steve quirks an eyebrow. “You listening to Cliff Richards?” Steve asks, nodding towards the record player. Bucky hums, start swaying a little, secretly happy that Steve recognizes something he sold him.

“Reunion album.” He says. “Pretty sure my bubba had a huge crush on him. I like this one.” He starts humming along, sorting through records in front of him and keeping tabs on Steve out of the corner of his eye. 

Steve makes it so easy to want to flirt with him, the way he ducks his head, his pleased little smile whenever Bucky blushes. It’d be awful if he’s straight, because Bucky’s not actually getting his hopes up, and he doesn’t wanna be the gay dude preying on Captain America but it’s so difficult not to poke. And Steve looks intrigued now, charmed when Bucky starts singing along. 

Bucky looks up, grins, and then along with the music: “‘_ Cause you’ve got lucky lips.” _And like nothing else, like a miracle, Steve’s stupid American-dream-sky-blue eyes flicker down to Bucky’s mouth and Bucky’s heart double-times it. He moves down the rack and Steve follows, indulgent smile on his face.

“You tryna tell me something, Buck?” _ Buck _. No one calls him that. He doesn’t answer, just sings along with the rest of the chorus, his voice lazy and lingering. 

“_With_ _lucky lips, you’ll always have a baby in your arms_.” Steve comes closer, hands by his side. Before he can say anything, Bucky pulls a Nirvana record from the rack with a soft ‘aha!’ and show it to Steve. “Doesn’t belong in Blues, does it.” Steve dutifully shakes his head, looking like he wants to laugh. Bucky walks backwards, meaning to turn around and take the steps up, but he misjudges the distance and the momentum makes him stumble and then fall, tipping backwards and catching himself with a free hand.

He ends up sprawled on the floor with Steve standing in front of him and _ jesus _he’s glad he didn’t try to catch him or something that would put Bucky in an equally embarrassing and arousing situation. Steve looks questioning, like he can’t decide between amused and worried so Bucky decides for him, lets his legs fall open on the stairs, leans back, and says the absolute first thing that comes to mind.

“If I were a lesser man I’d say something dumb involving a pun about fallin’ for you or whatever.” Bucky immediately wants to shove his foot in his mouth, and with the position he’s holding he’s pretty sure he could actually get it done. Steve quirks an eyebrow, and there’s humor laced in the movement, subtle but undeniable.

“Good thing you’re not a lesser man, then.” He hasn’t offered a hand yet, seems content to watch what Bucky’s going to do next. It feels a little thrilling, watching Captain America not living up to the image of a perfect gentleman. It feels a little more thrilling watching him from this angle, a taste of condescension in that arch of his eyebrow. Bucky rolls his eyes

“Yeah, thank god.” He looks up through his eyelashes, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “Otherwise I’d really embarrass myself.”

Steve scoffs and smiles down at Bucky - it looks mostly indulgent, and little pitiful, but Bucky will take that if nothing else. He puts his hands in his pockets, considering with his head tipped to one side. "You think you're real cute, don't you kid?"

It’s not what Bucky expects. In fact it catches him off guard, in a way that Bucky very rarely feels, used to confidence in social situations, used to lines and safety nets. The breath he sucks in through his teeth is maybe a little too audible and he snaps out of it when he can, tipping his head back as if getting comfortable on the floor. _ Don’t you, kid? _Yeah, that - that shouldn't feel as good as it does, sending sparks up his spine and the back of his neck.

"I think I'm doing alright."

Steve juts his chin out. "Is that what you usually do? Roll your pretty eyes and half-ass a pick-up line?" Bucky’s reeling, but he’s not going to let the chance slip away.

“You think my eyes are pretty?” Steve’s grin widens and Bucky is so fucking pleased to learn that Captain America takes teasing like a champ. There’s a blush on Steve’s cheeks now, and Bucky can’t help but smile, happy nerves churning in his stomach. This is not - this has to be what Bucky thinks it is. Steve is rubbing the back of his neck, smiling at the ground and everything.

“I think you know how you look.” He says and Bucky has to swallow a scream. He sits up a little and Steve backs away to lean against the rack behind him - Bucky can’t stop smiling. It’s a little embarrassing.

He shrugs. “Oh, you know. Never hurts to get reviews, just to be sure.” It’s fine, though, because Steve is smiling back, biting down on the inside of his lip like he’s fighting back a laugh. He nods, pulls a considering face.

“I see.” He says. “Of course.” He bends down, moving himself closer to Bucky and Bucky stops breathing when he comes to a stop, face tilted downwards. “You look good, pretty eyes.” Then the Nirvana album is pulled out of his grip when Steve passes him on the stairs, humming as he goes to find the right place. Bucky is left sitting on the stairs, stupid grin on his face and reeling a little from the proximity. _ Dickhead _. Just like that, the crush tips head first into full scale infatuation, buzzing fingertips and cheeks that hurt from smiling. He wants to turn around, tell Steve to come the fuck back and finish what he started, when movement out of the corner of his eye makes him jerk. Ah. Of course.

“Customers.” He says, loud, and stands up when the door chimes. The structure of the room means that the people coming in won’t see Steve immediately, the elevated part hidden behind the wall right of the door. Bucky reckons an escape plan isn’t possible, though. It’s a young woman and a kid, around six, probably her daughter - same oval eyes and kinky hair - which is a lot better than a group of teenagers. “Hi!” He says, smiling as they come closer. He moves over to stand next to the counter, seeing Steve helplessly hover in the background. “What can I do for you?” The woman has a hand on the back of the girl’s neck, scratching gently through her hairline. Behind them Steve has his arms crossed and is smiling at Bucky. He shrugs, a little upgiving but not unkind. 

“Chicago?” The woman asks, sounding a little out of her depth. “My husband’s missing one of the newer albums, the Stone of Sisyphus one? I think it’s from 2008.” The way she says _ I think _ tells Bucky that she definitely looked it up before coming here but doesn’t want to sound demanding. He nods, goes to the left to the wall across from the door, before nodding at Steve.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, mr. Rogers.” Turning his back to his customers, he swallows a mixture between a smile and a cringe when the girl gasps, loud and overjoyed.

“Are you _ Captain America _?” Well. He has more tact than that, at least. He wonders how the kid could recognize him so quickly without the suit, and then remembers the educational videos he’d seen, for physical education and detention in schools. Wild. Looking over his shoulder, he sees the girl, wide-eyed and excited, and the vice-like grip her mom has on her neck. Steve looks uncomfortable, but he still steps off the little platform and nods, hands in his pockets. 

“From time to time.” He says, smiling.

“I dressed up like you for halloween!” Steve looks embarrassed at that, and Bucky thinks he may not be that good with children. Which is delightful. He busies himself with looking for the Chicago album, listening in. The mother chimes in, gently saying “She did” and Bucky looks back over to see Steve’s expression softening, reading the room. Steve Rogers, giant sap. 

Steve’s in front of them now, a little hunched in on himself. “Bet you wore it better than I did.” The girl shifts on the spot, wriggles in the hold her mom has on her. 

“Are you friends with Black Widow?” She asks, and Steve grins for real this time, like he’d much rather talk about that.

“I’m very lucky to be, yes.” He says, nodding. “She’s just as cool as you think.” The girl mutters a muted _ nice _and her mom laughs into her hand, embarrassed. Bucky wonders how many moms in the US are disguising a crush on Steve Rogers. 

“Mom, I want a picture.” Having the right album in hand, Bucky’s ready to do something, distract them so Steve won’t get weird about it, but the mom beats him to it, quiet and admonishing: “I’m sure the captain is busy, another time.” 

“It’s okay.” Steve says, surprising everyone in the room. “I’d love to.” The girl escapes her hold and Steve is crouches down to catch her in his open arms. She gets comfortable in the crook of his elbow and Bucky hides behind the record, smile twitching at how fucking _ cute _that is. The girl directs him, makes him point at the camera and hold his fist out, all the while talking excitedly.

_ ( _“My name is Lily, by the way. You’re my favourite, I like Black Widow, too, and the incredible Hulk, but I wanted to dress up like you. And Mo said girls can’t be Captain America, but then this kid Ryan said that his grandpa says that black people can’t never - couldn’t ever be Captain America, so then Mo got really upset and said sorry to me because he got it now.”

“Anyone with the right heart could be the captain.”

“That’s what _ I _ said!” _ ) _

The mother’s smiling at her phone, and Bucky puts the Chicago album on the counter. “Want me to take one?” He asks in a low voice, loud enough that Steve can probably hear. She blushes, laughing, not looking embarrassed, but _ caught _nonetheless, and shakes her head.

“I’m okay.” She whispers. “She’s a bigger fan than I am.” When she turns around to pay, Bucky arches an eyebrow and she laughs again, waving her credit card. “Well. You know.” He nods, empathizing.

“Oh, I know.” 

She doesn’t have to drag Lily away, kid is cute and well-behaved, and she gives Steve an excited salute that he returns when they leave. Bucky can’t stop smiling, waving goodbye out of the window, turning to Steve looking sheepish. 

“Don’t like to say no, huh.” 

Steve laughs, eyes crinkling and joins Bucky at the counter. He shrugs, leaning on both hands. “Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded that what I do makes sense for the people as well. Not in the, you know. Those awful videos I did, but for making kids like her feel strong, or safe. It sounds - it sounds sappy, and on-the-nose but with the missions we’re pulling for, you know. Politics, it’s easy to feel like I’m just - like I’m a - “ he trails off, blinking at the counter and Bucky supplies.

“A weapon?”

Steve looks up, eyes soft. “Yeah.” He nods. “Or a circus monkey. Don’t feel like a either when I meet kids like her, you know?” Bucky doesn’t know, obviously, but he can sympathize. He holds Steve’s look for a moment, delighted when he doesn’t look away - he’s never wanted to hold someone’s hand this fucking much. Instead he breaks the eye contact himself and looks out the window, bustling street and high, blue sky. 

“When that’s said, you’re running a risk here, Stevie.” Steve groans an _ I know _ and follows his eyes. “Can’t complain, though, once word gets out that Captain America shops in my local little spot the place is gonna blow up. You re-education has been compromised.” It’s said jokingly, but Bucky thinks it might be absolutely true. For better or for worse, the place might get a lot more attention once people find out Steve’s been spotted there. At the thought, Steve’s face falls a little, and he looks genuinely sad at the possibility, which makes Bucky want to fix the entire universe. He hums a little with an idea, unsure of how it’s gonna go over. He’s wanted to suggest it for a month, but has had no viable excuse before now. 

“Unless, of course - “ he says, waiting for Steve to gesture to continue. “ - we continued it somewhere else. Not public obviously.” Steve smiles, intrigued.

“You wanna meet on the DL and do illicit music trades?”

“Can’t believe you know how to use an expression like _ dee-el _, old man. And I meant at my apartment.” Steve doesn’t say anything - Bucky doesn’t expect him to, at first. But then Steve just stares, dumbfounded for a prolonged moment and Bucky (never one to be controlled by tact or situational awareness) feels the need to continue. “If you want, I mean. Just for the music. I could put stuff aside for you in the store, and bring it home. Just to avoid people, you said yourself that it’s difficult to go outside, right? I just thought it’d make things easier.” Steve’s mouth opens and closes around nothing, and Bucky considers praying to all the gods he doesn’t believe in when the door opens, bell chiming. Clearing his throat and nodding curtly, Steve spins on his heel and stalks away, politely stepping aside to let the new customers in before leaving completely.

“Dude.” It’s a teenage boy, too-long curls bouncing as he gestures towards his friend. “Was that the fucking - the Captain America guy?” 

“The superhero? Why would he be _ here _?”

Bucky doesn’t know either.

  
  
  


** _Mad about the boy_ **

He doesn’t see Steve for a _ month _ and it’s a level of pitiful Bucky hasn’t experienced before. When it comes to relationships he doesn’t play it safe per se, but his own cynicism and knack for survival means that whenever people lose interest in him, he tends to lose interest right back. Saves him time and heartbreak and commitment - it’s nasty and dishonest, and it means that he’s rarely the vulnerable one in the relationship, because who the fuck wants to be that. But it also means that now, when Steve fucking Rogers has him all kinds of unhinged, knocked off his feet and reeling from what is he believes is called “ghosting” he doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

So he tells his little sister. 

“I think I need a pep-talk.” He says, miserably, when they’re on the phone. It’s friday night and he’s home, face plastered against his living room couch. Becca could likely have plans but she turns up at his apartment about an hour later, ice cream in opaque plastic bags. She doesn’t allow Bucky to say anything and he doesn’t, just groans into the couch as she goes to the kitchen and clatters around. She comes back with two opened beers that she puts on the table and a couple of spoons.

“Talk.” She says, pushing at Bucky’s feet until she can sit at the other end of the couch. Bucky sits up minimally, just enough for him to get to his strawberry ice cream and stab at it with his spoon. He grumbles.

“I don’t even know where to start.” 

Becca’s already working on her own mint chocolate chip flavour, because she’s insane. “Do you want me to guess and then you can nod or whatever?” They do that a lot, both having tendencies to be emotionally constipated when it comes to themselves. After a while Bucky nods, turning the first spoonful over in his mouth. “Is it work?” He hums, shakes his head. Work isn’t the _ problem. _“Money?” He shakes his head. Becca blinks at him, squinting, then reaches out for her beer. “Is it boy trouble?” He nods, Becca grimaces, and immediately takes a sip. “Yikes.” She says. “Not often you’re on this side, huh.” Bucky scowls at her, poking her calf with his toe. 

“Pot, kettle.” 

Becca smiles, and gestures with the bottle. “Yeah, I know, I know. You met him at work?” Bucky nods and his sister laughs like he’s so fucking see-through. Whatever. Only one of them went to a fancy boarding school, _ whatever. _ “You and your music boys, Jimmy.”

“Shut _ up _.” It’s a little juvenile, but hanging out with his sister does that to him. “He just - came in a while ago, looking for recommendations. It’s like he’s collecting records of names through the decades and like - he listens to me for opinions and he’s really fun to talk to and I don’t - I don’t know? I like him. Whatever, fuck.” Becca’s smiling around her spoon and nodding along, making agreeable noises.

“D’ya think he likes you?” She asks, and Bucky breathes in, confused and reluctantly annoyed. _ Fuck _Steve Rogers, to be honest. 

“Yes?” He says, head tipped back against the armrest. He thinks back, cycles through the talks they’ve had. Bucky fucking knows what flirting looks like, even if the guy doing it grew up seventy years before he did. “Yes. He’d - he called me cute, and pretty, and - he called me _ pretty eyes, _like as a nickname.” Becca makes an impressed sound, eyebrows arched in admiration. “And he’d say these things that like - hinted at stuff, you know? Like I asked if he liked to dance and he said ‘with the right partner’ and I blushed like a seventh grader and he looked so fucking happy - “

“He made you blush with that? Okay, _ damn _.” Becca puts her ice cream down and sits up, like she’s suddenly serious. “Who the hell is this guy?” Bucky laughs at that, can’t help it. It’s humorless and dry and he puts a hand over his face, wondering how this is his life now. 

“You know him, actually.” He says. Becca looks surprised, and then curious, and then confused, so Bucky decides to just say it. He sits up completely, mirroring Becca on the couch. “It’s Steve Rogers.” Silence. He’s been getting a lot of those reactions lately. Becca is frozen, her head cocked to one side and her face unreadable.

She starts to speak, slowly, her eyes still fixed on Bucky. “When you say Steve Rogers…” but Bucky’s already nodding.

“That Steve Rogers, yeah. Yes, I thought he was straight, too. No, it can’t have been someone else, he introduced himself to me, we talked about him being Captain _ fucking _ America, a kid took a photo with him. Which is what led me to this mess, because I _ knew _ that if people knew that Captain America was in the store they’d fucking flock to it which _ sucked _because I really liked him being there, so I suggested that we met up at my place some time so we could keep going with the music and he literally ran out of the fucking door. It sucked because it was humiliating but what sucks even more is that I’m not even that annoyed at him, I’m mostly just sad that I won’t get to see him anymore. Fuck.” He ends his rant by shoveling more ice cream in his mouth, letting it roll over his tongue. He presses the tub to the side of his face where his skin feels angry red and hot to touch. Becca’s looking at him still, but the frozen expression has given way to something sweet and slightly amused. 

She smiles. “You’re in love with the guy who made you realize you’re gay.” 

He groans, out loud, and puts his ice cream down again in favor of rolling over and pressing his face into the couch. _ In love _. Awful. Not like he didn’t see it coming, but right now it feels fruitless and embarrassing to admit out loud, so he goes for the other part of Becca’s sentence.

“He didn’t _ make me realize it _, he was just the last drop in the glass. Dickhead.” Becca just smiles at him, affection in her eyes.

“So what, you think you’ve scared him off?” 

Bucky looks out the window behind them, wide panes letting in the street light from below. The answer seems obvious to him. “He ran out of the store, Becca.”

“Right, okay, yeah, he freaked out. But, like. You think he gets cozy with civilians a lot?” Jesus. Bucky hadn’t even thought of what Steve usually does. He seemed so reluctant to show his face in public, but so easy with Bucky, like it was the most obvious thing. He says so out loud and Becca smiles, stirring her ice cream. “It does sound like he’s got a soft spot for you, Bucky.” She says, gently teasing and then, louder, like she snaps herself out of it: “God, Captain America’s got a boner for my brother, _ gross _.” Bucky laughs out loud, because it’s awful and hilarious, but it doesn’t cheer him up as much as Becca probably intended.

“You don’t know that.” It sounds sad, and so _ unlike _him - Becca was right, he’s rarely on this side of things and he’s feeling some awful Christmas Carol esque vibes, getting to see what it feels like being overly invested when the other guy isn’t. 

Becca empties her beer and shrugs. “I don’t. But as you don’t have his number, you can either mope or get it over it.” It sounds so easy when she says it.

They spend the rest of the night catching up in the way you do when you text all the time but rarely meet face-to-face. Becca has been doing her post-college dance, making money as much as she can. Bucky talks about his online lectures, the translations he’s doing for professors. It’s way past midnight when Bucky gets up to find Becca some spare sheets. He tucks her in on the couch, loose and lazy as she is, tired on talk and alcohol. She hums when he brushes the hair back from her face, always a little sister, even when she takes care of him. Before he goes to wash up, she grabs his wrist and mumbles into the couch: “You’ll be alright, by the way.” Bucky grins.

“Yeah?” He asks, and his sister nods. 

“On one hand, it’s Steve fuckin’ Rogers. Being him is probably not easy, so like. Give it time, maybe? On the other, he’s just a guy, Bucky. If he can’t see how dope you are, who gives a fuck.”

Bucky cleans up, thinking that’s he’s never gonna fall asleep with the thoughts racing in his head, going over the last few hours and the last couple of months. _ He’s just a guy _ . Maybe he didn’t think of that. He didn’t think of Steve as _ Captain America _ , has barely thought of his superhero identity, but he’s always seen him with the added luggage, the repercussions of Steve’s private life being exposed to the rest of the world. But _ he’s just a guy _. Bucky’s felt responsible, and guilty, like them spending time together is somehow keeping Steve away from more important things, as if he’d value saving the world over hanging out in a music store.

(which he would, and should, but still) 

_ He’s just a guy _, but he’s a soldier and superhero, so he’s hopefully mature enough to make his own decisions. He’s just a guy, but so is Bucky.

He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The talk with Rebecca helps, because of course it does. He buys her dinner a couple of days later, and she looks smug through the entire meal, which is fair. Because Bucky doesn’t stop moping completely - he’s still really fucking sad about not getting to see Steve anymore - but he sharpens up, sets his mind on other things. Cleans up the store, meets up Quill and Gamora. It’s impossible to forget Steve, first of all because he’s apparently in love with the guy, and second of all because the word really did get out there. Most people don’t directly ask - although some do - but he gets floods of wide-eyed customers who seem to just show up there and wait. At least it sells records. So he doesn’t forget Steve at all, but he prepares himself to look for rebounds, and wonders if it’s a rebound if nothing happens in the first place, even downloads tinder and grindr again - 

Which of course makes it really fucking annoying when Steve shows up at the store just as Bucky’s closing, a month after running off.

Bucky’s actually at the door, locking it before he cleans up and goes out the back, when Steve appears on the other side of the glass, looking sheepish and apologetic and hopeful. God, Bucky’s so happy to see him it makes him angry, tipping his head against the glass.

“Shit.” He says, and Steve laughs through the glass pane. 

His voice is muted through the door but Bucky hears him anyway. “Hey, Buck. Am I too late?” _ Of course you’re fucking not _ . Bucky wants to say. _ You probably couldn’t be, are you blind? _ He wants to say. _ Fuck off, _ he wants to say. _ I think I’m in love with you, so fuck off. _

“Guess I got a minute.” Is what he actually says. Patient. Complacent. He lets Steve in and locks the door after him, then gestures to behind the counter. “Sit.” He says. “I gotta clean up.” Steve does as he’s told immediately, no comment or snark. He even moves like he’s treading lightly, literally, rounding the counter and sinking down on Bucky’s rolling stool. He has a white plastic bag, smelling like the coconut soup from Bucky’s favorite thai place, and Bucky knows a peace offering when he smells one. Steve folds his hands and watches as Bucky flits around the store, dusting off. He can feel eyes on him, calculating. Steve seems nervous, of all things, and it spurs him on. “Did you wanna say something or are you here for the music? ‘Cus then you gotta wait for opening hours, mr. Rogers.” He has his back turned, running a cloth over the slats on the wall, but he can hear Steve’s bothered little huff. Yeah, well. Suck it up, buddy.

“Don’t go back to that, please. I liked Steve a lot better.” He turns around, feeling petulant and annoyed. 

He gestures uncertainly with both hands. “Fine. What do you want, Steve?” Steve doesn’t flinch, but grimaces a little at Bucky’s tone, eyebrows quirking up in the middle like he’s _ sad _.

“To say I’m sorry. You surprised me. That’s all.” Bucky pauses and curses internally when the openness of Steve’s face and the honesty in his voice makes Bucky’s pulse go a little faster. He nods, chewing on his lip. God, it’s not like he thought Steve was being a dick on _ purpose _. “I wanted to say yes. But there’s a lot more to it, and then you got new customers and I panicked.” It does sound honest, but rehearsed as well, like Steve maybe practised or wrote down what he wanted to say before coming to see him.

“It’s not often Captain America runs away from something. Steve Rogers doesn’t seem like the type either, so you can’t blame a guy for getting worried.” At that Steve smiles and rubs the back of his neck, leaning over the counter. There’s still that, and the racks in the middle of the store in between them, and Bucky wants to move closer, to get all up in Steve’s space like he did last time, to see what would happen but he stays where he is.

Steve is nodding, and he looks embarrassed most of all. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for blaming me either - “

“Who said I was _ blaming _you - “

“- or for being mad at me, if you are, or anything. It was unfair. I hope you know it wasn’t because I needed _ time to think _or anything like that. I wanted to say yes, immediately, and it’s not like - god, Buck, you gotta know that this - “ he gestures with a hand, fingers flicking in between them, “- it’s not something I do often. It’s difficult to - to get to know people like this.” Bucky moves to the corner of the rack, fixing a sign that says ‘Blues’ where it’s crooked, stuck between records.

“So what made you come back?” He asks, actually curious. He wonders what Steve has spent this month dong.

Steve clears his throat in a self-conscious little laugh, still rubbing at his neck in a way that looks like a nervous habit now. “I have some - my friends. They said I was being an idiot when I told them about what I’d done. And what you - what you said.” Bucky hums, eyebrows arching.

“What else do your super friends know about me?” That’s mostly to tease, and only a little bit out of actual interest, and he’s gratified when Steve pulls a face like he desperately wants to stay neutral, difficult to read.

“I mean. Not a lot. Just what I - think about you, and all that.” _ What I think about you _ . That doesn’t sound rehearsed at all. Bucky’s missed having the upper hand. It feels good. He wants to say _ what do you think about me _ because in Bucky’s head, the jury’s still fucking out on Steve Rogers’ sexuality and decades of internalized hatred and social stigmatization tells him to take three steps back, but all of that fades, bright coloured laundry in too much afternoon sun when Steve opens his mouth again: “So I wanted to say yes, please and thank you to your offer. I went by the thai place you told me about, and it’s not to be presumptuous but if the offer still stands and you don’t have any plans, we could get dinner at your place? If not I’ll go back home, I promise. Your choice, Buck.” The thought that Steve was setting himself up for rejection makes Bucky want to scream, but it feels pretty good - makes him feel less fucked up over it, like they’re equals. He breathes and points his eyes to the ceiling, rolls Steve’s proposition over in his head. _ Let’s get dinner at your place _. Bucky could fucking swoon.

“Christ, Rogers.” He breathes out. “You’re a piece of work, anyone ever tell you that?” Steve smiles, hopeful and happy, like he can feel himself being let off the hook. Even with the past month, and with all of Bucky’s irrational fears in the face of what actually happened the day before, the bottom line is that he’s missed talking to Steve, and he’ll take what he can get at this point.

“You wouldn’t believe how many times.” 

Steve only hovers a little as Bucky locks up - there’s not really supposed to be any people in the store when he does this, but Steve is perfectly soldier-like, standing still and out of the way, curiously following Bucky with his eyes as he does up the register. “Whatsa matter, Stevie?” He asks, getting his attention. “Never worked in a shop?” Smiling, Steve shakes his head.

“Worked beats as a paper-boy. Sold some drawings to publishing houses, all before the war.” Bucky puts the cash in two different envelopes and locks them in a safe under the counter, leaving the register open. “Didn’t really have a reason for other work since then.” Bucky’s automatic response is ‘must be nice’ but he doesn’t say, because he really doesn’t think it must be anywhere _ near _nice. Bucky finishes closing down, turning off lights and checking everything off, before leading Steve out of the back door and locking up. 

On the way to his apartment, Bucky can feel a quiet simmer of nerves climbing up in his chest - it feels like he’s inviting his crush home for the first time, which he _ is _, he’s so stupid over Steve Rogers it’s embarrassing. He can hear Becca laughing already. But mostly, nerves notwithstanding, he’s almost weightless with relief over how easy it is to talk to Steve again, like nothing’s changed. He very tactfully avoids dropping his keys when they stop in front of his place and Steve mentions that he’ll ‘show Bucky the brownstone, one of these days’, managing instead to choke on a breath and push his through the front door door, mind reeling. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He says, when they’re up two floors and through the door on the right. “Shoes-off household, by the way.” Steve dutifully unlaces his boots and puts them next to Bucky’s, who wasn’t expecting Steve Rogers in socked feet would be this endearing - but he’s been wrong before.

His place isn’t big, but spacious enough with a big living room combined with a kitchen, wide windows turning towards the west, bedroom on the other side. He leads Steve to the couch against the wall - the dining table seems to serious - and sits him down, fussing over the less than perfect state of his kitchen, the computer and open notebooks on the coffee table. 

He throws one of the smaller windows open. “See, if you had just allowed me to fulfill my master plan of getting you in my house on my own time, I woulda cleaned up the damn place.” He says, faux-upset. “Beer?” Steve just nods and smiles indulgently, unpacking their food on the low table.

“This is perfect, Buck.” He says. He actually did buy Bucky the coconut curry soup, because he’s listened to Bucky’s ramblings for several months now and Bucky’s just really gone for this dude. “Master plan, huh?” Bucky sits down next to him, two bottles and bowls for their food.

He hums in affirmation. “Everything’s a part of my master plan.” He scoops his soup over into a bowl, a lot easier to handle than the soggy take-away box. He folds his legs up under himself as Steve copies him with his own food. “Thought it was working, too.” He says. “You had me going for a while there. Got ice cream with my sister and whined about a boy not liking me back like I was back in high school.” It’s a little embarrassing to admit out loud, but Bucky’s also a little tired of the dance, tired of uncertainty. It’s not like he’s been quiet about it. Next to him, Steve hums, resting a foot on his knee.

“Of course I like you, Buck.”

“Yeah?”

He looks into the air, considering. “Yeah. A lot. It’s, you know. A little new.” Then he smiles a little, shrugging. “Or not new, exactly. Not like I didn’t know what was going on.” Bucky wants to explore _ that _, wants to dig into every little inch Steve gives him about himself, about what they’re doing now, but he knows it’s probably an organic thing, at the very least up to Steve himself. “Still, I - I shouldn’t have run off on you like that.”

“No, I get it.” Bucky says. “You’re Captain America. You can’t just go home with every stranger who’s interested. That’d get you in some serious trouble.” It’s a joke, but Steve doesn’t laugh, just takes a swig of beer and looks at Bucky with crinkling eyes that are weirdly green in the sunlight. 

“Tell me about yourself.” He says, and when Bucky doesn’t say anything he explains: “Won’t be a stranger, then.”

Bucky laughs, the whole situation feeling a little surreal. “We’re doing this the wrong way around.”

“Don’t think so. We met, listened to some music, got introduced, talked about common interests a bunch, you danced, you _ fell _for me - “

“I didn’t even make that joke.”

“You invited me home. We got dinner.” Bucky half-snorts into his bowl, nodding along. “Now you’re gonna tell me about yourself. Your family.” Steve pauses. “If you want to.” Bucky squints, takes a slow sip of his beer.

“Sounds like we’re going steady.” 

It’s a joke, but the universe hates him because Steve shrugs and says: “If people still say that, sure.” Heat colors up his neck, no doubt, tingling in his cheeks. Instead of giving into that urge to take Steve by his stupid pressed collar and shake hard, or the one that makes him want to slip Steve a note of the “Check yes/no/maybe” variety, Bucky lets his hackles fall and tells Steve about himself. It’s different from what he’s been doing since the beginning of summer. Steve knows about his taste in music, his favorite take-out place, who he voted for, so Bucky tells him all the stuff that’s easier to talk about in your own home. About his hometown, and his upbringing. His school, being an army brat with no mom, his sister. When he tells Steve about the death of his father, Steve’s face doesn’t fall and Bucky knows it’s because there’s no misplaced condolences. Steve knows what it’s like being an orphan.

“We were taken in by an aunt here in Brooklyn, but Becca was sent to a boarding school and I started high school early. I’m kind of a smartass.” Steve laughs at that, directing a face towards his roasted chicken. “What’s that face supposed to mean? Huh, Rogers?” When Steve looks up at him his eyebrows are arched, obvious and faux-innocent and it feels good to be teased again. Steve shrugs, makes a non-committal noise. 

“Oh, you know,” he says, putting his bowl on the coffee table just to have something to do with his hands, “that’s just not very surprising.”

Bucky scoffs. “You shoulda heard my biology teachers. I was apparently a devil child.” Steve is smiling, nodding a long, and Bucky dares to take a leap. “What about you? With the trouble you get into I can’t imagine you were _ ‘a pleasure to have in class’ _” To his relief, nothing really changes on Steve’s face, no shutters fall over his eyes. He laughs, leaning back with his arm over the backrest, hand close to Bucky’s shoulder. 

“I was okay. Didn’t upset my teachers too much, I think.” He rolls his eyes at Bucky’s little ‘_ too much?’ _ and ignores it. “I got into a lot of fights, though.” 

Bucky thinks back on his museum trips, the history books, and remembers the pictures of Steve Rogers before Operation Rebirth. Back when he was all eyes, his hands and nose too big for the narrow span of his shoulders. “You got anything against running away?” He asks, but he thinks he probably knows the answer. The shine in Steve’s eyes tells him that Steve thinks that, too, and his heart clenches at the thought of the little guy standing up to bullies. He nods, looking down at his soup so he doesn’t do anything stupid like throw himself at Steve’s feet.

They’re quiet for a bit, Bucky’s ears zoning on the rustle of Steve’s breath and the sounds of the late summer evening outside, the sun still glowing and orange in the sky. He’s okay with the silence, but he also feels that he has to entertain Steve to keep him around so he gears up to say something else when Steve beats him to it.

“I still expect the recommendations by the way. I think you mentioned the sixties last time.” He’s smiling at Bucky, looking hopeful and boyish like before and Bucky smiles back, jumping into motion.

He takes their empty bowels and puts them in the sink before going over to the wall next to his bedroom door, turning on the amplifier under his record player. “If you’ll allow a more modern approach.” He says, grinning and wiggling his phone and Steve. “There’s this thing called bluetooth - “

“I think I get what your biology teachers mean, you know.” Steve says and Bucky shrugs, avoidant. Steve looks good where he’s sitting, legs spread in the couch and leaned forward on his knees to watch what Bucky’s doing. “What are you gonna show me?”

Bucky connects the amplifier to his phone, scrolling through albums on his spotify. “They’re overdone, in my opinion,” he says, picking one, “but you can’t really talk about the sixties without mentioning them.” He regulates the volume as _ Eight Days a Week _ starts playing, making Steve smile in what Bucky thinks is recognition. He goes back to the couch. “You know The Beatles, I’m guessing.”

Steve nods. “The internet is a great place.”

“Just don’t click on the pop-ups advertising single, russian women in your area looking to get - “

“Listen, _ brat _, - “ Bucky laughs with his head thrown back.

They talk for long, longer than they’ve ever done, having been so far controlled by closing times and customers. Bucky shows him some other big names like The Rollings Stones, The Who -

_ (“We’ll wait with Bee Gees ‘till the seventies. Zeppelin and Deep Purple as well I guess, but I don’t think you’ll be into them.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “I can’t imagine you like it hard, Rogers.” Steve blushes at that, looking like he’s swallowing down something he desperately wants to say and Bucky wants to give himself a pat on the back.) _

\- but tries to keep to the more approachable stuff like the Beatles. Steve really likes Simon & Garfunkel, which is exciting in a way Bucky hadn’t expected, so he plays Fleetwood Mac even if it’s later sixties, writing names down on a torn away page from his notebook. “Rumours didn’t come out until seventy-something, but it’s arguably the best album ever made.” Steve laughs a little at that. “So I’m gonna add it anyway.” Bucky’s writing down Sly and the Family Stone, mostly just to see what Steve’s reaction will the next they see each other, when Steve holds out his phone, screen unlocked.

“Put in your number?” He says, nervous when Bucky’s busy looking dumbstruck. “So you can write me stuff, right?” Right. The smile Bucky’s fighting against when typing his number into Steve’s phone feels like it’s gonna split his face open. He names himself ‘Very cute and incredibly smooth music store guy’ and Steve doesn’t comment on it when he sees it, just bites down on a smile. “I’ll text you.” He says, easy as that. 

In all, Steve ends up staying at Bucky’s for hours, until the sun is below the horizon, light still reaching upwards where the stars should come out. Steve only looks out when Bucky can’t disguise a yawn, hiding it in the crook of his elbow. He laughs and waves Bucky’s apology away. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ve been keeping you for too long anyway.” He gets up, and Bucky wants to offer him the couch, or the bed, but he know it’ll be turned down so he follows Steve to the door, watching him put on his shoes. 

“Does this means you’ll come back?” He asks, part teasing and part serious.

“It does. Don’t wanna miss out.” There’s ambiguity in that statement that makes Bucky smile as he opens the door for Steve. They both pause, Steve on the other side of the doorway, looking hesitant. “So, I don’t - “ he begins and stops again immediately. Bucky waits him out. “I’m not entirely sure how to do this.” Bucky cocks his head to the side.

“You don’t know how to hang out with people?” 

Steve averts his eyes, seeming to look everywhere but Bucky. “Is that we’re doing? Hanging out?” Huh. _ Huh. _

Bucky starts out slow, going on instinct but keeping himself in check. “What would you do if it - if we weren’t just hanging out. What would happen then?” He flicks a finger between the two of them and Steve shrugs.

“If you were a dame I’d probably kiss your hand.”

Bucky laughs, finding the imagine a little sweet but mostly weird. “People don’t say dame anymore.” He says, and Steve nods, smiling.

“Yeah, I know.” Then he moves, so slowly that Bucky doesn’t notice it at first, just leaning his upper body closer and Bucky feels himself soften, forcing his breath to slow down all the while his heart pounds against his chest. He didn’t think this would lead to a kiss and when Steve’s eyes flicker over his face he realizes it’s not going to. Steve turns his head a little, presses his lips to Bucky’s cheek. It’s sort of awkward, Bucky thinks, his free hand clenching around nothing and him staring at the empty hallway but then Steve’s hand finds his, stroking a thumb over his knuckles and Bucky breathes out, shaking. 

“You okay?” Steve whispers, his breath fanning over the scarred skin next to Bucky’s ear. Bucky nods. They’re so close, he could turn his head and they’d be kissing, but the anticipation and the tension sending hot-cold chills down his neck are new and wonderful, ramping him up in a way he’s never tried before. He realizes his eyes have closed and he opens them again when Steve leans away. They stare at each other and Steve laughs, self-consciously. “I gotta get home now.” He says, his hand. Bucky just nods, still reeling from being kissed on the cheek like a third grader and he lets his hand glide slowly out of Steve’s grasp when Steve walks backwards to the stairs. “See you around, Buck.” When Steve turns around, Bucky gets the door closed and leans against it, breathing out in a rush. His face is flushed and his heart’s still pounding like some kind of _ amateur _. 

“_ Fuck _.” He says to the door, and through it, half a floor down, he can hear Steve laugh. He stays there for a few minutes, revelling in the jitters and butterflies, before his phone buzzes. It’s an unknown number, writing: “Send me the names, okay? I take my education very seriously.” Bucky names the contact Captain Tease with an American flag and an eagle emoji and keeps his smile down until he can hide it in his pillow.

  
  


** _You make me feel so young_ **

They start meeting at Bucky’s apartment as Summer’s ending, almost every week. Steve having his saving-the-world duties means that sometimes he cancels without being able to tell Bucky why. 

_ (“There’s no point in covert operations if we tell civilians about it, Buck. _

_ “Yeah, whatever. Did you know that Ringo Starr was kind of a shitty drummer? Quincy Jones thinks The Beatles are the worst musicians in the world.”) _

It’s fun, and Bucky enjoys that simmery feeling he gets when he’s in an in-between part of a relationship, where hugs feel weird but kissing feels too serious. He doesn’t get this attached often. It feels fucking exhilarating and out-of-his-mind scary. Apart from that, the more he’s with Steve the more the music feels like a ruse and it actually feels like Steve wants to spend time with him. And jesus, the guy is so fucking funny, holier-than-thou and borderline conservative when it comes to certain topics and then every bit the lower class Brooklyn artist he seems content to be when it comes to others. When Bucky plays him The Supremes one day, figuring out quickly that Steve is really into blues, they talk politics.

“It’s as if for every new, incredible thing people invent there’s gonna be someone shutting it down.” He says, gesturing with his hands, voice brisk and almost disappointed. “Someone comes up with an almost sure-fire way to prevent a laundry list of illnesses that regularly killed people before and people have the gall to say _ no thanks _.”

“Freedom of choice, though.” Bucky challenges. “It’s up to the individual to decide, right?” He agrees with every word Steve says but wants to see what he’ll say next.

Steve nods, but still has that pinched look on his face. “Obviously.” And then - “But some kids are too young to be vaccinated, right?” He looks up and Bucky nods. “So if some parents leave their older kids unvaccinated, they’ll go and infest a whole kindergarten. It’s not just up to the individual if them being stupid results in dead children.” Steve argues like he’s quietly frustrated, looking away from Bucky with his hands twitching in the air. Bucky wonders if Steve would join a protest some time. Would people recognize him in a ‘punch all nazis’ t-shirt? He pins the idea for later.

“I’ll say, Rogers. You’re awfully spy for a gentleman you’re age.” 

Steve gives him a look just short of sticking his tongue out. “I’ll show you spry.” 

“_ God, _ please do.” It’s a joke that Bucky doesn’t really wanna say, so he deals with the resulting moment of silence by queuing up another song. When he looks up Steve is looking at him, wondering.

“I wish I could.” He says and then, before Bucky can say something dumb and suggestive: “I wish I could take you out somewhere. Go dancing.” 

Bucky feels a bittersweet pang in his chest, heart skipping a beat. It’s a good image, it’s a _ great _ one, getting to smile at Steve over a menu, or holding his hand of whatever the _ fuck _ . Not really a viable one, though. “Probably not the best idea, Captain America going on dates with a guy.” Steve looks so _ sad _at that, looking down on his hands in his lap. 

He nods imperceptibly. “I’d hesitate to take you out even if you were a woman, but yeah. Can imagine some people would get real up-in-arms about it if they found out Captain America was queer.” Bucky’s eyebrows go up, comically high. He can’t help it. It’s not like it’s surprising, with Steve kissing his cheek goodnight every week, and the flirting, and the _ pretty eyes _ but hearing him say that out loud is still a little wild. Steve catches his look and laughs, understanding. “What? Is that the wrong word to use? I’ve been told there’s a lot of words today.” Bucky waves a hand as _ I don’t want to be tied down _starts playing, volume low. 

“You can use whatever word you want, Stevie. Who’s been educating you on that, huh? You got other advisors I should know about?” Steve laughs and his head is bobbing a little to the music.

“It’s uh - her name is Natasha. She’s a friend.” Bucky doesn’t know who the hell Natasha is, but he knows there’s only one female avenger so he might have a guess. He rearranges, pulls both legs up on the couch and turns to face Steve completely, next question on his tongue. Maybe he pauses too long, or maybe Steve’s secret super power is mind reading, because he says “You got something on your mind, huh?” Catching Bucky’s eye. 

Bucky gives a half-shrug. “When did you know?” He asks, and Steve hums. 

“Not sure.” He says. “For a while, I think. Looking at girls felt the same as looking at boys, there wasn’t much of a difference. And looking the way I did growing up it was easier to make time with men than women.” Bucky’s a little blindsided by Steve so casually mentioning getting with guys back in the thirties, and he tries real hard about not letting it show on his face. He must let something slip though, because Steve narrows his eyes a little. “Bet you thought I was a virgin, huh.”

Bucky scoffs. “I didn’t _ think _ anything.” He says, incredulous, but he sounds too petulant to be convincing. Steve’s laughing at him, the idiot, holding up both palms

“Okay, okay, alright. How about you, pretty eyes, when did you know?” The 180 from earnest exploration to full-on flirting has Bucky reeling, blinking a little, and stammering when he realizes what the answer is. Bucky wonders what the policy is for telling your crush that they were your sexual awakening. He shrugs again.

“Oh, you know.” He not-answers. “Same as you, except looking at boys just felt a whole lot different than looking at girls. The time I spent at my dad’s army base probably did something there, too.” He sends Steve a dirty grin which is just answered by the indulgent little smile he has, like he’s humoring him - the smile that should be mostly condescending, and definitely shouldn’t make Bucky squirm where he sits. Steve looks out of the window when the song ends, the sky going dark along the horizon. 

“Clock strikes twelve.” He says, clapping his knees once like the dad he really is and getting up.

Under his breath Bucky says “cool Disney reference, nerd” and then a little louder: “You know, you don’t have to go every night.” Steve looks down, eyebrows arched. “You could crash here. You’re not putting me out.” Steve’s smile is soft, and a little longing maybe, eyes crinkling at the corners. Bucky knows he’ll probably be rejected but he couldn’t _ not _say it.

Steve, however, reaches down and puts two fingers under Bucky’s lip and - huh. His head is tipped backwards until he meets Steve’s eyes properly, skin buzzing. “I know.” Steve says. His voice is quiet, slow, almost a drawl. “But I think if I stayed here I’d find it real difficult to take it slow.” Bucky swallows, knowing Steve can feel it against his knuckles.

“What if I don’t want you to take it slow?” Steve swallows this time, his throat clicking in the silence. His thumb comes up to glide over Bucky’s lower lip.

“Then I’d tell you to be patient.” Bucky can’t move, barely breathes, doesn’t part his lips or flicks his tongue out like he wants to, in danger of scaring Steve away. But Steve is smiling at him, soft lips and a playful darkness in his eyes Bucky hasn’t seen before. “Sleep well.” He bends down to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, chaste. “I’ll see myself out, pretty eyes.” 

Bucky can still feel the weight of his thumb when the door closes. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _Can’t help falling in love with you_ **

  
  


Eventually, it becomes much less educational. Steve tells Bucky about music, too, stuff that he’s never heard of, and what people did for fun back in Brooklyn. Bucky learns about his mother’s death, his illness, how money was tight and the war effort didn’t exactly help, all the while Steve’s sardonic, self-deprecating humor has Bucky somewhere in between sympathizing and laughing.

_ (“People say that true artists perform in Manhattan but they’re born in Brooklyn.” Bucky says. “Is that true?” _

_ “I mean, I’d like to say yes.”) _

They watch movies, on Bucky’s laptop - the big ThinkPad he only uses for the screen - because he doesn’t have a TV. They watch Classics, and cult classics, and newer movies, not sticking to a timeline. The education quickly becomes looser until it’s just something they do when they’re together - and when they’re not, Bucky sending him youtube links until Steve caves and gets a spotify like a functioning member of society. Bucky also tells Becca about him, while he’s lying in bed. She asks him how things are going, nonchalant and not at all hinting, and he says “Steve and I-” and she cackles like the little shit she is. Bucky can’t believe _ she’s _ the one who went to a boarding school in the country. “ _ Steve _and I -” he tries again, “- still meet up sometimes, like I told you. He cancelled for this weekend, but you know.”

“Does he still kiss you on the cheek? In the doorway?” Bucky grumbles and it’s enough of an answer apparently. When Becca’s finished giggling she says: “It’s really nice, though. Seems like he likes you.” 

He nods, rubbing his cheek against the pillow. “I think so, too.” It sends an excited shiver through his stomach. “It’s uh - it’s just. You know. I think the last person he really dated is like ninety now.” Becca hums thoughtfully. There’s a voice in the background, her roommate, and she leans away from the phone to say something. When she comes back her voice is serious.

“Have you asked him about Peggy Carter?”

He shakes his head, hoping the rustling will translate through the phone. “He’ll tell me eventually, I guess. It’s not a problem, I just. She’s a difficult woman to live up to, you know.” He feels vulnerable saying it, and as a rule he doesn’t cry over guys but he feels like he could probably do it out of frustration now. His sister doesn’t say _ I know, _doesn’t really give him any advice which is good. She changes the topic and says ‘let me tell you about this thing my boss did, god I hate this fucking internship’ and Bucky smiles, pulling his blanket over his head.

Maybe he has impeccable timing, or maybe Steve does, or maybe the planets align, because the next week Steve mentions Peggy.

He apologizes for cancelling when they’re eating - a home-made meal at the table, Bucky’s _ palms _are sweating. Bucky waves hand. “No worries.” He says. “The citizens of the United States of America thank you for your service.” Steve laughs but shakes his head, frowning a little at his pasta.

“I went to see Peggy. Carter, agent Carter.” Bucky blanches, his fork paused in mid-air. He doesn’t want to make Steve uncomfortable, but he’s also afraid his hands are going to start shaking, so he lowers his fork and nods, smiling a little. “I just wasn’t sure how to tell you.” That makes sense. Steve’s voice isn’t insecure, doesn’t shake or stumble - he sounds curt almost - but it’s soft, careful that he’s treading lightly. Bucky nods again.

“It’s okay. Whatever you wanna say is fine.” He wants to ask how she is, if she’s okay. If Steve misses her, what they talk about. If he still loves her, because Bucky’s a raging masochist apparently. He doesn’t say anything, just takes tiny bites of his pasta, tasting nothing. Steve’s still looking down, brow furrowed.

“I told her about you.” Bucky almost chokes but manages to just cough awkwardly, looking at Steve with watering eyes. 

“That right?” Nonchalant, only a little fake. Steve nods, smiling.

“Yeah. She was a little angry at me for running away, and for not having any pictures of you.” Bucky smiles, fork twirling, and Steve’s voice goes even softer. “She’d - she has dementia, but she says she’d like to meet you. If you ever wanted. You don’t have to, she forgets who I am sometimes, and it’s a little scary, but. The offer stands, whenever she has a good day.” There’s a lump in Bucky’s throat, at Steve’s rushed, hushed explanation and the soft pain around his eyes, the way he says _ scary _which is not a word Bucky thought he even knew. God, Bucky wants to hug him. Instead he reaches over the table and takes Steve’s free hand, intertwining their fingers. 

“Whatever you want. I’m good.” Steve smiles, eye blinking fast. 

They talk about Peggy Carter and the war. About the whiplash after waking up, and how taking orders feels different now, than it did back then because it was easier knowing the good guys from the bad. Bucky rubs his thumb down the knuckle of Steve’s index finger.

“You can’t tell the difference anymore?” He asks. When Steve doesn’t answer he looks up to find his eyebrow arched and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says, “covert ops, civilian, I get it, I get it.” 

Steve does say what he talked about with Peggy and it’s not that different from what Bucky knows. Idly, Steve turns his hand around so Bucky’s palm is facing upwards, and starts tracing lines on the skin. “She told that the best way to move on is to start over.” He says, the heaviness in his face twisting and dissolving, becoming sweet melancholy rather than just pure sadness. 

“Sounds cryptic.” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t answer.

They clear the table, putting the leftovers in containers. Bucky insists Steve take some of it home, and Steve insists that the one who cooked shouldn’t do the dishes, so Bucky lifts himself up on the kitchen counter as Steve rolls his shirt sleeves up. “Put on some music?” He asks, and Bucky finds a playlists full of crooners, because he’s in a mood apparently. Bucky drinks a glass of water and watches Steve wash up, dish towel over his shoulder. He’s a mortal man so he gets to appreciate the span Steve’s upper back, the slope down to his waist - his voice is dark, little more than rumble when he hums along to the songs he can recognize. “This one’s good.” He says when Dean Martin starts playing. “Think it’s from the sixties as well.” Bucky arches an eyebrow, impressed.

“You been doing your homework, Rogers?” And Steve grins, ears a little red. 

“Told you I was nice to my teachers.” He puts the casserole on the burner and hangs up the towel, putting his hands on his hips. Bucky’s about to suggest a movie, or a beer, or a nightcap, but Steve holds out a hand, looking hopeful. “Dance with me?” He sounds so earnest, blinking at Bucky with sweet, trusting eyes that he probably doesn’t spare for a lot of people like him, so Bucky swallows the retort he wanted to make, self-preservation thick in his throat. Steve misreads his silence, pulling his hand halfway back. “Sorry. You don’t have to, I just - “

“I’m not Peggy Carter.” Bucky softens his body language even though his voice is hard, tries not to come across as a dickhead. “Can’t be her no matter how hard I try.” 

Steve smiles, eyes a little forlorn but warm enough, like he isn’t surprised to hear that. His hand stays outstretched. “No one can be Peggy Carter.” Bucky tries to swallows again, painfully around the breath stuck in his throat. “But no one can be you either, Buck. Haven’t met anyone like you.” That makes it loosen a little, the way Steve looks at him like a lie is the farthest thing from his mind. So he smiles and glides off the counter, taking Steve’s hand. “You alright with me leading?” Steve asks, putting his hand on Bucky’s waist - it’s high up, for courtesy, but it feels warm and heavy and good and Bucky’s _ so _alright. He nods. 

“You know how to dance?” He asks, and Steve pulls him a little closer, laughing.

“Not really. But I promise not to step on you.” 

The dance is little else than a slow swing, Steve twirling him under one arm, pushing and pulling at each other. Bucky lets go with his right hand and spins to Steve’s side, gets pulled back to have Steve grab him closer, hand bunched up in the shirt on his waist. He can tell Steve loses his poise, laughing out loud, and at one point pressing his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, smiling into his skin. They cycle through the playlist, Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, songs varying in mood. “I know this one.” Steve says when Nina Simone starts playing and Bucky has to laugh at the earnesty of his gasp, only stopping when Steve threatens to delete his spotify account. His eyes are shining though, so happy that Bucky has to look away sometimes, stomach churning with nerves and happiness. The dancing moves them away from their kitchen, into the space behind the couch next to the windows. Bathed in yellow light from the room and the city lights from outside, Steve looks a little unreal, the angles and shadows of his face twisting and curving around him every time he turns. 

They slow down when Elvis starts playing, and Bucky almost wants to break away to skip the song. _ Can’t help falling in love _feels way to real, scraping his skin a little raw. Steve doesn’t seem to notice though, just pulls Bucky a little closer, squeezing his hands.

“I don’t want you to be Peggy, just so we’re clear.” He says. Bucky groans, hides his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. It was a stupid thing to say, embarrassingly honest and insensitive in a way he didn’t want to be. 

“I know.” He mumbles. “‘M sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Steve is shaking his head, taps Bucky’s neck until he looks back up. “Don’t be. I’m just - “ His eyes flit over Bucky’s face, a little nervous, but mostly excited, happy. “I’m just bringing it up again because I’d really like to kiss you now and I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” 

All the build-up of the last couple of months glide off Bucky’s skin like a cold shower - as if he wasn’t completely and totally clear that this is where they were going. The way Steve is looking at him now, honest and unbiased but with intent in his eye tells him enough.

“Yeah.” He says. “We’re on the same page.” 

Steve kisses him.

And. 

Okay. 

Whatever he thought before, about teasing and uncertainty and Steve Rogers’ 40s era ass moving criminally slow - it’s gone now, evaporated. Bucky’s never had a kiss like this one. They stop swaying, and the music becomes nothing more than noise with a rhythm, a backdrop to what Bucky’s feeling. Steve’s mouth is warm on his, wet from laughing and smiling at him - clean from the water, but with a taste of chili, bright and sharp against the inside of Bucky’s lower lip. It’s close-mouthed and warm, and the hand that’s holding Bucky’s lets go to touch his face, long fingers folding under his jaw. Bucky has both of his hands on Steve’s shoulders, fingers spreading to the collar, and Steve softly breaks away.

“Wanted to do that since May.” He says, hand soft and sure on the cusp of Bucky’s throat now. “When you blushed. You’re so cocky and loud-mouthed and then you get one step out of your comfort zone and you turn red. It’s incredible.” Bucky pouts, butts his forehead against Steve’s, trying not to scream at the idea of Steve wanting to kiss him since the first time we met. _ I would’ve let you _ , he wants to say. _ Glad you didn’t, though, _ he wants to say. 

“That’s rude.” He says. “You try figuring out if flirting with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen is gonna get you assassinated by the government, then we’ll talk about _ comfort zones _.” Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s throat where it pauses on his shoulder, but his eyes continue, going over his chest, his legs. Bucky wants to preen a little, ruffle his feathers and show off.

“Didn’t get me assassinated, pretty eyes.” Bucky grumbles. “Can I kiss you again?” He waits until Bucky nods before ducking down again. This kiss is different, Steve’s hands flexing in the crook of Bucky’s waist. Bucky opens his mouth a little, pushing in to close it around Steve’s lower lip and listens for affirmations, sounds of content. Steve hums, so he swipes his tongue out, sighing when Steve opens his mouth and he can feel soft, wet heat, giving and alive. Steve’s a good kisser - not a virgin, _ not _a virgin - varied and careful, but responsive to Bucky’s pace. There’s a hint of teeth on his lip when Bucky pulls away and suction when he pushes back in, slow and sensual. Steve uses his hands too, running one up Bucky’s back while the other touches careful fingers to the hem of his shirt, sliding over an inch of skin. Bucky can feel his pulse quickening, pre-emptive arousal pooling low in his stomach when Steve’s thumb glides over the bottom of his ribcage, under his shirt, breath coming out in a groan heard too obviously over the music - Etta James now - and Steve breaks away, leaning his face against Bucky’s. Bucky’s already regretting it. 

“Sorry.” He gasps, hands clenching and loosening on Steve’s shoulders. Steve’s shaking his head and he can feel the smile against the side of his face, but he continues anyway. “I’m sorry, I’m just really - _ fuck. _” 

“Yeah.” Steve sounds quietly breathless. He takes his hand out of Bucky’s shirt and pets down his sides, probably meant to soothe both of them. “Me, too.”  
Bucky’s hands feel restless, twitching over Steve’s neck, his collar, his shoulders. He feels a little unhinged. “I just want - I _ want _ \- _ Steve. _” 

“I know what you want, honey.” And _ oh _, that’s new. One of his hands slides around, presses hot and insistent against Bucky’s lower back and Bucky follows, humming when their hips push together. “You’ll get it.” 

Bucky shivers, lips twitching up in a smile. “Yeah? You’ll give it to me?” He whispers, because he’s really not about to let this guy run with the reins. “S’at mean you’re gonna fuck me?” Steve backs away, blinking, caught off guard as his lips part on their own.

“You wanna watch that mouth of yours, kid?” If not for the tease in his voice Bucky would do as he said.

“You gonna put something in it?” 

The world spins around and Bucky’s almost gently pushed up against the wall next to the window. Steve kisses him, lips breaking into a smile and Bucky feels infatuated, contagious silliness rubbing off on him as Steve pulls at his shirt, pressing them impossibly closer.

“You’re too much.” He mumbles against Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky gives a flash of teeth, nibbles at Steve’s lower lip. “Where were you back before the war, huh? Bet you coulda showed me a thing or two, smart fucking mouth.” 

Bucky gasps, keeps in the ‘_ language!’ _when Steve gives him a look. “Still could show you something.” He doesn’t squirm in Steve’s grasp, content to be pinned where he is. “Shoulda known you’d like to watch, old man.” Steve smiles, lips twitching up in the dumbest alpha-esque growl that wouldn’t be attractive at all if Bucky wasn’t so stupidly hard from just a kiss. Steve presses close again, licking into his mouth and Bucky wonders what he’d do if he pushed a thigh in between Steve’s legs, pressed against his groin. He moans at the thought, and at the feeling of Steve’s tongue slipping from his mouth. Backing away and coming back. Steve takes a few breaths, leaning their foreheads together and Bucky tries to calm down. He’s understood a lot about delayed gratification this night. He’ll wait until forever if the sex is going to be anything like this.

“Go take a shower, huh? I want you too, sweetheart, believe me, just not right now.”

Bucky nods. “Don’t want it right now.” He kisses Steve again, sweet and short, sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Wanna wait.”

“Yeah?” Steve looks sweetly hopeful, even with his eyes dazed and cheeks reddened up. Bucky nods.

“As long as you want.” With a last kiss, Bucky slides away from Steve, smiling at him as he passes his bedroom door, slipping down the short hallway and into the second bathroom. The grin on his face feels stupid and infatuated but Steve looks like he’s reflecting it so it’s okay. He starts pulling off his clothes once he’s inside, turning the shower one. He looks at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His cheeks are ruddy, flushed red and his eyes are glassed over a little, dark in yellow light. _ Go take a shower _ , Steve said. The _ take care of yourself _was implied. Waiting for the water to heat up, Bucky tips his head back against the door, one hand sliding down, fingers under his waistband while the other unbuttons his jeans, pulls the fly apart. Jerking off while his almost-maybe-pseudo boyfriend is in the other room is the not the most depraved thing he’s ever done, not the dirtiest or weirdest thing by far, but his skin feels like it’s on fire anyway, nerve endings lit up and sizzling. He tries taking his pants off while being mindful of his dick but it’s difficult, the scratchy waistband gliding over hot skin. 

The wise decision would be to let the shower cool him off, but Bucky’s never pretended to make wise life choices. Leaning against the shower wall with one arm, hot water curling around him, he curls his other hand around his dick. He’s pent up and deliciously frustrated, rocking his hips into the feeling. His eyes flutter shut, and it’s too fucking easy for his thoughts to drift back to Steve, turned-on in the living room, the hardness he felt against his hip. All he can think about is putting on a show. Leaning on his back against, the cold wall stark and contrasting, he circles a nipple with his left hand and Steve’s name hisses out over his lips, high pitched and echoing. He wonders what Steve is like, _ will _ be like. He’s too pent up to fantasize properly, and the real deal is in the next room over, so all he can focus on is bits and pieces: the quiet dominance in Steve’s eyes, nonchalant and barely there, the slight condescension - Bucky’s dick twitches in his hand, precum washed away and he gasps out a self-deprecating, breathless laugh. He slides a rounded hand over the head of his dick, rubs two fingers to the underside, teasing, and thinks of Steve’s fingers, his lips, his teeth. Bucky’s not _ small _ , he’s always been fit, long-legs and a strong chest but _ god _ , he wants Steve to pick him up. Fire curls up fast in his stomach, between his legs and he thinks of spreading them to squeeze them around Steve’s hips, locking his ankles in the small of his back - of Steve pressing his wrists to the bed, or opening him up, soft and wet and aching, calling him _ pretty eyes kid honey sweetheart, smart fucking mouth, take it _-

When Bucky comes there are stars dancing on the back of his eyelids. The free-fall feeling swallows his breath and makes the muscles in his legs clamp up and shake when he arches against the wall. He tightens his hand to draw it out, looking down at the sordid fucking imagine of his dick pulsing in his hand, drops of cum smearing over his fingers and his reddened skin. He groans, softly and broken, and moves back under the water on shaky legs to wash himself off, calm down like he was supposed to do in the first place. He feels exhausted now, all that dumb, horny energy drained out of him, and a little embarrassed at the prospect of looking Steve in the eye again. He does it, though, throwing his clothes in the hamper and wrapping a towel around his hips, another one to tussle at his hair as he leaves the bathroom.

Steve doesn’t look like he minds.

Bucky can’t help but smile and the unguarded look Steve gives, like he’s realized that he’s allowed to watch now. He doesn’t look like he’s calmed down either, cheeks red and eyes a little glassy still. _ Super-hearing _ , Bucky thinks. _ Well _ . He stops in front of Steve where he sits on the couch, cocking his head to one side. “You staying the night, Rogers?” Steve looks up at him, _ up _, because his eyes were trained on Bucky’s hipbone, following a drop of water. Bucky rubs the other towel over his chest and smiles. “No funny business, I swear.”

Steve does stay the night. He borrows sweatpants but no t-shirt, says he runs too hot in the night but Bucky suspects he just wants to even the score. Before they fall asleep Bucky burrows close. “Can we be boyfriends?” He whispers into the skin of Steve’s neck, feeling a little stupid and a lot vulnerable doing it. Steve puts a warm hand on his naked waist and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah, Buck.” He says. “Boyfriends sounds good.”

  
  
  
  
  


** _Burning love_ **

  
  


There are things that change, after Bucky officially unofficially starts dating Steve Rogers, and there are things that don’t change at all.

Bucky kind of sort gets to kiss him when he wants to, which is a lot. He kisses Steve hello and goodbye, goodnight and good morning, he kisses Steve to say thank you and to shut him up, and he kisses Steve when it feels like he’ll physically combust if he doesn’t. They touch a lot, and instead of feeling charged and tense, it feels like something clicking into place, like safety and loveliness - no less awesome than before, Bucky can still feel hairs rise on his neck when Steve’s fingers brush his ear lobe. They dance around each other a bit, unsure, but it’s exciting, figuring out what makes the most sense. 

They’re watching _ Wizard of Oz _ , because Steve remembers watching it in the movies when it came out, and also because Bucky’s gay and imprinted on Judy Garland a long time ago. He’s stretched out on the couch when Steve comes back from the kitchen, and just nimbly raises his legs. “Take a seat.” He says and Steve laughs, puts the bowl of chips next to the computer and does as he’s told. But then Bucky puts his feet on Steve’s lap, wriggling contently, and Steve puts a hand on his ankle and Bucky _ shrieks _, folding up like a pretzel. 

Steve looks horrified. “Sorry!” He says, hands in the air. “I didn’t - I thought - I’m sorry.” Bucky’s already laughing, over the shock. He slowly puts his legs back, although Steve’s hands stay where they are.

“I’m ticklish.” He explains. “On my ankles. And feet. If you tell anyone I’ll have to kill you.” Steve smiles, unsure, his hands hovering. Bucky rolls his eyes, mostly to disguise how charmed he is. “You can touch me, Rogers. Just put you hand a little higher - there, yeah.” Steve softly, very slowly puts his hand back, resting it on Bucky’s calf. After a while his thumb start going back and forth, stroking through Bucky’s sweatpants. They’re navigating. Bucky’s head is reeling from how normal it is.

They continue their exploration through the decades, on other days. 

“The thing is.” Bucky says one day, pacing in front of the couch. “The things is that people credit the eighties as to being a sort of musical revolution, right, and they were, with the rising popularity of disco and synth music, but like - the roots of that was in the seventies, and it was this melting pot of conflict and music and culture. Classic rock being the big player, and then hiphop, and especially disco being a subculture of gay people and people of color, and the prissy, elitist motherfuckers who only made angry music couldn’t _ handle _it so - “

“Bucky.”

“- music about freedom and solidarity developed out of adversity, right - “

“_ Bucky _.” Bucky stops in his tracks, looking back at Steve on the couch. His face is unreadable, but he’s holding out a hand. “C’mere.” He said, voice a little dark, and Bucky pauses.

“Did you listen to a word I said, Rogers?” He asks, indignant, but takes half a step anyway. Steve nods, wiggles his fingers a little. His legs are spread and Bucky kinda wants to pounce, but he’s also a little offended at having his rant interrupted.

“I have, I promise.” Steve says. “And I can think of a guy who’d love you. But just come here for a second, hm?” Bucky puts his hand in Steve’s, still huffing a little, and lets himself be pulled closer. He gets the memo quickly when Steve leans back into the couch and he bites down on a grin, straddling his thighs. He can feel the muscle under the denim, a hard give to it.

Bucky wriggles. “Is there a reason you wanted me in your lap?” He asks, teasing. Steve just nods and puts his hands on Bucky’s waist.

“I thought you’d look pretty here.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. “You do. I’m a genius. Kiss me?” He’s okay with that, petting over Steve’s arms and shoulders and leaning in. It’s warm in his apartment, but thunderstorm warm, and he can feel cold electricity in the air when Steve rubs around his lower back, hands big and solid through his shirt. 

He breaks away, smiling when Steve makes an upset sound and follows him for two more short kisses. “I see how it is,” he says. “My music talk gets you hot, huh?” Steve laughs, smile wrinkles by his eyes. 

He nips at Bucky’s lower lip. “Everything about you gets me hot.” It’s not a denial. Then his hands wander, go down until they curve over Bucky’s ass. 

Oh. 

Most of the time, Steve kisses wet and filthy, full of tongue and open mouth without it going anywhere and Bucky’s more than fine with it. He likes the tease of it, of seeing Steve fucked up and worked over, likes getting to feel that he’s hard against only for them to cool down, say goodbye at the door. It’s the loveliest kind of frustration. This is different though.

“This okay?” Steve asks and Bucky nods, eager and dazed. “I wanna try something.” Bucky nods again, and Steve’s laugh rings out, loud and lovely in the quiet of the apartment. “You didn’t even know what I wanna try.” With a smile that he presses into Steve’s cheek, Bucky shrugs.

“I’m up for a lot of stuff, good-looking. Try me.” Steve pets Bucky’s ass, a little fond. 

“Hold onto me then.” The world spins around when Bucky’s lifted up, but before he can get the very delicate and attractive curse out of his mouth he’s sitting on the couch with Steve in front of him. On the floor. On his knees. Huh.

“Huh.” Bucky says, and his dick twitches against his fly. He didn’t think he’d have a pavlovian response to seeing Steve on his knees for him, not the other way around, but life is full of surprises.

Steve looks unsure, petting down Bucky’s thighs. “This okay?” He asks, and Bucky nods, swallowing spit and sharp arousal. When Steve still doesn’t move Bucky gets his tongue working, whispers ‘yes, yes, god yes’ on an exhale, and Steve looks satisfied, eyes flickering down to Bucky’s crotch. “I haven’t done this in a while.” He says, hand ghosting up and _ over, _pulling on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky bends down into a kiss. “But I think the gist is the same, don’t you?” Bucky nods, but he can feel himself go stupid with arousal, breath growing heavier. He lets Steve push him against the couch and pull on his knees so he slides down, legs spreading. He thinks of what Steve said, and suddenly wonders.

“Uh, so, should condoms be a thing?’” He asks, face heating at how exposed he feels, even with his clothes on. “What do you - “

“It doesn’t have to.” Steve says. “Unless you got something that could kill a regular person, I wouldn’t worry. Worried about the mess?” Bucky shakes his head, feeling out of his depth with Steve’s fingers on his fly. 

Steve’s eyes meet his, dark but focused and he opens his mouth but Bucky cuts him off. “I swear, I _ swear, _ I’ll tell you if I change my mind, please, _ plea _ se _ , _don’t leave me hanging now.” Steve laughs, not unkindly, but amused, nodding and reaching up to kiss Bucky one more time. Then he opens Bucky’s fly, long fingers folding around the waistband. Bucky raises his hips at Steve’s mumbled ‘up’ and his jeans are pulled down, down, off of his legs completely. Steve even takes his socks off, careful of his ticklish spots. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Rogers.” He says, without getting an answer.

Steve’s hands come back, tickling through the hair on Bucky’s thighs with a flat-palmed glide, smooth and warm. Bucky’s torn between closing his eyes and never looking away from Steve again. Steve looks _ hungry _, so pleased and turned on and Bucky can’t fucking believe he gets to have this. He sucks in a breath when Steve’s hands frame his half-hard dick, high on his thighs. “You can touch me.” Steve says, and Bucky’s hands spring to action, one curling around Steve’s ear, fingers in his hair, the other around his neck. He smooths his thumb over Steve’s mouth, his lips, and Steve kisses it, smiling. “I’m gonna put my mouth on you now.” He says it a little like a question, but Bucky doesn’t even get to nod before Steve ducks down to put his mouth, warm and open on the side of Bucky’s dick. Bucky’s head falls back. Spit soaks the fabric of his underwear, and it’s transparent around the edges of Steve’s mouth, tan skin visible through the white. His dick pulses, pushes against the fabric. His legs are spread obscenely wide around the width of Steve’s shoulders and his hips twitch when Steve sucks. “Please.” He says, not really sure what he’s asking for. “Steve, please-” Steve makes a sound, like a hum, like a groan and back away only to pull off Bucky’s boxers. And christ, he should be at least a little embarrassed at being this hard with this little stimulation, but Steve just looks at his dick like it’s a miracle. 

He curls a hand around it, long stupid fingers, and Bucky wriggles. “Put your legs over my shoulders, Bucky.” Jesus, he’s going to fucking die here. Bucky does as he’s told, his strong thighs on either side of Steve’s head, Steve curving his arms around them, pressing kisses to the soft skin on the inside. “Babydoll.” He whispers, and Bucky’s hands twitch in his hair. “You’re beautiful.” If Bucky could fucking think, he’d appreciate how it sounds so different to shit he’s heard in the past - Steve sounds reverent and infatuated and loving, like he’d say it to Bucky whenever he wants to hear it. But as it is, Bucky isn’t prepared to hear the word babydoll come out of Steve’s mouth, so he bites down on a gasp and lets Steve kiss a trail up to his dick. When he actually gets his mouth around it, Bucky’s toes twitch and he tries to force himself to relax, to let the _ goodwetsoft _feeling bleed into his muscles.

Steve sucks dick like he kisses, which is to say, like a fucking champ.

Varied, careful, trailing his tongue up the side and fluttering his eyes at Bucky before taking it in his mouth, softly sucking on the way down. His tongue works against it, wet hot muscle pressing and curving around his dick, and Bucky’s gasping, breathing out quiet “Oh, _ oh” _every other moment. Steve’s hand is curled loosely around the base of his dick, thumb curving down to rub over his balls. Bucky’s legs shake with exertion, trying to keep still. Steve back away, rubbing his thumb over the head until Bucky groans, sensitive. “You can relax.” He says, and Bucky looks up at Steve’s flushed face, his wet mouth. Steve flexes the hand that’s holding onto Bucky’s thigh. “I’ll hold you down.” Bucky nods, breath stuck, and Steve lets go with the other. “You okay? You’re so quiet.” And that - it’s like water down Bucky’s back, even while his cheeks color with embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I -” he scrambles, tries finding his tongue again. “I can - make noise, I’m sorry.” He tries to sit up a little, engage, but Steve’s hands clamp down on both of his thighs, shaking his head. 

“Not what I meant.” He says. “Not at all what I meant.” He rises up on his knees and the muscles of Bucky’s thighs stretch, bending until they’re folded against his chest. Steve is careful but indisputable, hands sure on Bucky’s skin. He leans in and Bucky groans into the kiss. “I really like you like this.” Steve says. “You’re beautiful, everything you do is gorgeous. You make me so hard, honey.” And Bucky can feel it through Steve’s jeans, his dick pressing against his ass and he squirms, moans against his mouth. Steve smiles and kisses him for a while, teeth and tongue, before sitting back down. “I just wanna take care of you right now.” He says. “Can I do that? You can nod.” Bucky nods, thankful. He doesn’t always get like this, but now, exposed like this, it’s easy to forget his words. Steve licks over his dick and curls his hands back around Bucky’s thighs. “Play with yourself, honey. Make it feel good.” It takes a while for Bucky to understand because Steve chooses that moment to swallow his dick down, gathering spit on the way up. It’s nasty and soft and slow, his mouth making wet, airy sounds and Bucky squirms against the feeling, relishing in Steve’s grip. Then his mind catches on, and he tucks trembling hands up under his shirt, pinching at one nipple. He’s gonna shake out of it skin, tumbling closer to the edge. Steve moves his mouth down around his balls, sucking at the soft skin, heavy and tight against Bucky’s body, and Bucky finally bites out a moan.

“I’m close.” He chokes out, skin buzzing with tightness - he feels close, wound-up and floating, but Steve is moving so slow, rubbing and kissing and sliding his mouth over spit-slick skin.

“Whenever you want.” Steve whispers, sucking him down again and Bucky stops trying to hold on. His eyes fall shut and his head lies on the backrest. There’s butterflies in his diaphragm, air and fireworks in the spaces between his ribs and he feels a million pounds lighter as Steve works him closer, content to spend the entire night between Bucky’s legs. His hands twitch, muscles flexing and relaxing and he groans, hips rocking against the couch. “Please.” He whispers, nonsensical. “Please, baby, god- “ because it feels good to have something to ask for, to let Steve take care of it. Steve takes his mouth off of him, replaces it with a wet hand, jerking him slowly. His legs start shaking, a tremor under his skin that he can’t control.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough, aroused. “You gonna let go for me? Jesus, Buck, you look good.”

Precum dribbles out and Steve moans, loud and unabashed, biting at Bucky’s inner thigh.

“Come on, sweetheart, just give it to me.” He keeps his hand slow, tight, and Bucky’s gonna scream. He’s convinced he’s never going to come like this, except it builds, and builds, taking up space in his stomach and his chest and his tongue, cold electricity spreading out - and his fingers dig into the couch and his legs cramp and Steve sucks his lips around the head of his dick and Bucky comes, cold and warmth crashing over him in waves, quiet and breathless and overwhelming. It keeps going, Steve’s hand around him and Steve’s voice, saying words Bucky can’t hear and he keeps coming, breath coming quicker, legs trying to close together around him but Steve pushes them apart again. Bucky whines, the first sound in he doesn’t know how long. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, and it’s just on the cusp of patronizing, like he’s copying the sound of Bucky’s voice and Bucky feels his legs spread again. Steve’s hand stops. Bucky melts into the couch, eyes closed.

He’s moved around softly, pushed to the side so he can lie down. The throw pillow feels cool against his face and he snuggles into it, mind empty. There’s a hand in his hair, combing through it. Probably Steve, he thinks. When he blinks his eyes open, it _ is _ Steve sitting in front of him, wearing a smile whose fondness doesn’t really match what they just did. Bucky groans, pushing into his hand and that sweet smile splits wider. There’s a blanket over him, he notices. Then his brain catches up. 

“Ah, fuck.” He squirms where he lies. “I’ll get you back when I can feel my brain, I swear to God.” Steve shushes him, other hand gliding over his shoulder where sweat is cooling off. 

“No, you’re not.” He whispers, and Bucky protests, but Steve just presses a kiss to his cheekbone. “You were beautiful, Buck. Everything I’ve wanted and more, jesus christ.” 

Too worn-out to argue, Bucky just mumbles “It’s just pretty eyes, thanks” and Steve pulls a face that’s so fucking fond Bucky has to close his eyes.

“You like that, huh?” Steve whispers, hand scratching through Bucky’s hair. Bucky shivers.

“Don’t even start with me, baby love.” He says and Steve laughs, leans in to butt their foreheads together, smile in his eyes. Outside it starts to rain.

** _Baby love_ **

Their schedule becomes less planned. They text more. Steve meets Bucky at the backdoor of Vanguard with a bouquet which is dumb and ridiculous and Bucky kisses him breathless up against the wall before they go to Bucky’s place. Bucky sees Steve’s old place in the middle of the night, run-down and tiny, but he’s less sad about it than he thought he’d be.

Bucky considers every other Saturday date night, because he’s the picture of domesticity now, apparently. Steve still cancels sometimes - what changes is that he tells Bucky when he’s going to see Peggy, which means Bucky knows when he cancels because of a superhero gig, and the terror he feels when _ that _ happens only increases. Steve always texts him something when he’s home, or back, or safe, or _ whatever _. Something about music or movies or a single heart emoji, or seven heart emojis of the same red heart because Steve still texts like a grandpa, and Bucky will know that he’s okay. 

One day in the middle of September there’s five days of radio silence, and then Steve shows up at the back of Vanguard, looking tired and dark-eyed, and sporting a cut on his left temple and Bucky is the least chill he’s ever felt, accepting Steve’s kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, honey.” Steve says and Bucky smiles, feeling sour. He locks up and leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. As if sensing Bucky’s mood, Steve looks wary, but he still says “I wanna take you out” which, for some reason, pisses Bucky off. He scoffs.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Where?” 

Steve looks unimpressed, arching an eyebrow. “Dunno. Somewhere I can exist without having pictures taken of me. Somewhere I can hold your hand without putting your life in danger, preferably.” 

Bucky frowns. His ego rolls in his chest, angry at feeling coddled. “You protecting me now?”

Steve doesn’t rise to it. “You think I’m the only one people would go after if they found out Captain America is queer?” Bucky shivers. He hadn’t thought of that. 

He waves a hand, pressing himself into the door and avoiding Steve’s eyes. “I got it.” He says, sullen. Feeling like he ruined something, wanting more than ever to ask what Steve actually goes on when he cancels - how he got the cut on his temple. Steve looks at him with soft eyes, tender, like he wants to reach out. Bucky wants to paste himself to the door.

“I know it sucks.” Steve says. “It’s not like I want to keep you as my dirty little secret.” It’s a gentle thing, and honest, and Bucky should take it as an olive branch and swallow his pride but it’s stuck in his throat, angry and insistent so he bites back the first thing he can think of. 

“I haven’t been to your house.”

Steve’s face changes, and Bucky doesn’t know whether to be happy or frustrated that Steve is just as stubborn as he is. “Because being closer to me got get you in danger.”

Bucky laughs, bitter. “You’re in fucking danger, too, it’s like you think I’m helpless.”

“Against muggers and regular guys with brass knuckles, no, you’re not helpless. But against underground secret service agents, or super humans, or angry mobs with firearms, yeah, Buck, I’m a little afraid of leaving you to that.” He never raises his voice, but his face hardens, zones in. “And _ of course _I’m in danger, but I signed up for that, apparently, and you didn’t. Do you have scientifically enhanced abilities of regeneration? Because I do. Can you jump out of a building and keep running? Because -”

Bucky throws up his hands, head reeling. “Because you can.” He says. “RIght, fuck, okay. I’m sorry. Jesus christ.” Steve steps down, deflates a little. They stand in silence. Bucky clenching his jaw and Steve breathing heavily, sounds of the city filling the air between them. Then Steve speaks, shoulders pulling.

“My name’s baby love, actually.” Bucky scoffs, looks down. “I wanna take you out, but I can’t do that anywhere with cameras. And that’s shitty, and I’m sorry - “

“S’what I signed up for, jackass.”

“I know, pretty eyes.” God, _ fuck _ Steve Rogers. He steps a little closer, and then closer when he sees that Bucky lets him. He puts a hand on Bucky’s arm, fingers digging softly into the leather. Bucky looks at that instead of his face. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re caught, or that I’m making you do anything you don’t want.” Bucky looks up, not expecting that and Steve looks _ sad _. Jesus christ. He takes his hand. 

“If you’re about to suggest breaking up because I get mad at your superhero gig taking up time, I’m gonna deny you access to my apartment.” Steve’s mouth hangs open for a second, and then snaps shut, eyes going wide and faux-innocent. This fucking guy. Bucky sighs, grabbing ahold of his jacket sleeve. “Whatever, fuck.” He starts pulling them out of the courtyard and down the sidewalk. “Tell me about this supposed date, Rogers. You got connections all of a sudden?”

His connections are unsurprisingly Tony Stark, which is how Bucky ends up staring at a limousine from his doorstep a week later. He’s wearing a blue suit - and not the navy blue, pseudo-black blue, it’s blue enough that it’s visible - with a v-neck underneath, white sneakers. Steve had said business casual. He wasn’t expecting the limo. 

Neither have the people on his street, staring at the car filling up the sidewalk. God, Bucky’s gonna get fucking robbed. A man steps out of the driver’s door and rounds the car to the other side. Bucky doesn’t know what he expected - the dude looks like a limousine driver, a little older, gloves on his hands, nondescript and polite. Do the Avengers have personal chauffeurs?

“Mr. Barnes.” The driver says, and Bucky jumps into action, ducking into the car through the door held open for him. 

He’s a little relieved to see that there are no flashing lights, or bass thumping inside the car, no bar or white leather - just smooth black interior - but his nerves are still ramping up, leg bouncing up and down. Bucky has no idea where they’re going. He texts Steve a few times as the car drives across the city, not expecting an answer, just nonsensical emojis and sweet expectations and also calling Steve a weirdo for hiring him a limo instead of an Uber. They’re in Manhattan when they stop, but Bucky doesn’t realize why until he gets out of the car and looks up.

“Ah, fuck.” 

With a dry smile, the chauffeur leads him to the building of the Avengers tower where he meets a doorman who leads him inside and Bucky wants to call Steve just to cuss at him. He’s led through a lobby full of busy-looking people in suits, and he doesn’t exactly stick out, but he can’t help but feel that everyone knows why he’s here. He considers asking the doorman where they’re going, but the doorman hadn’t even said hello to him. They end up in an elevator, with so many buttons Bucky’s going dizzy just looking at them and they go up - and up - and up - and Bucky decides to text Steve. _ You took me to the Avengers tower for our date _ , and _ are your superhero friends here?? Do your superhero friends know who I am? Do they know we’re going on a date?? this is the weirdest flex I’ve ever seen _ and _ Steve I’m going to stab you with a salad fork. _

When they stop, Bucky doesn’t bother looking at the number, just toes out of the elevator and stops. 

It looks like a common room maybe, a wide and open space with couches and a glass table. There’s a bar, a pool table and the back wall opens up to a balcony, glittering in the sun. Just before that, there’s a table, set with what looks like a tasting menu, small dishes of different kinds, wine glasses and crystal bottles of water and next to that, Steve, looking happy and bashful and incredible.

Bucky swallows. “This, uh - this feels more gala event than business casual.” Steve laughs and holds out his arm. Bucky draws nearer on blind feet. 

“You coulda worn sweatpants if you wanted to, but I wanted you to know I take this seriously.” He pulls Bucky into a kiss, sweet and warm in the sunshine and pulls away too fast. “Let’s eat.” 

It is a tasting menu, and it’s awesome, and Bucky has to remind himself not to just go wild like he kinda wants to. Steve softly talks about his day, about Peggy, about a veteran dude he’s mentioned a few times, and Bucky can tell he’s nervous - fidgeting a little, eyes flickering like he’s watching Bucky for reaction to the dinner. And Bucky’s nervous, too, because of the clothes and the venue and the suspense, but in the end it’s like any other time he’s been with Steve. It’s easy and engaging and interesting, because Steve’s the hottest person in the world and they’re having dinner in the Stark tower, but Bucky’s also very much in love with him, so that makes it easier. He doesn’t realize he’s grinning before Steve asks him what he’s smiling at. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You. Whatever, shut up.” 

Steve asks him about the scars on his face and his hands, and Bucky shifts, self-conscious. “The great alien invasion in 2012.” He says, smiling. “It blew up Vanguard a little, sent me to the hospital.” Steve pales, putting down both utensils. For as much blood that Steve Rogers must have seen, he sure looks horrified at the concept. “S’okay, though.” He says. “It was more the luggage, and dealing with the store. It was real difficult to go back there for a while.” That doesn’t help, obviously.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve says, sounding professional and detached but looking like he’s gonna hurl. Bucky softens his face and decides to change the topic just to get Steve to stop making that kicked puppy look.

He gestures around them. “How’d you pull this, huh? Does Tony Stark know my name now?” 

Steve shrugs with a bit of a grimace but accepts the change. He hums around the edge of his wine glass. “He probably does, somewhere. But I didn’t tell him your name, if that’s what you mean.” 

Bucky licks a smudge of chili-spicy hummus off his thumb and frowns, considering. “So you just told him you had a hot date and wanted to rent out a floor, that it?” Steve nods and Bucky wants to plant his entire face against the table. He holds out, though, and Steve explains.

“I mean, I - I told - listen, they’re all just very excited at the prospect of me dating someone. They think it’s good for me.” Bucky can’t help but preen, ruffle his feathers. 

Then he asks, hesitating: “They know you’re dating a guy?” And Steve doesn’t miss a beat, softly smiling.

“They know.” He reaches over the table to take Bucky’s hand, the one not play with the edge of his wine glass. “Hey, listen, uh - “ he catches Bucky’s eyes. “I’m doing - something, right now. We’re in the middle of something not good, and I need you to be patient.” Bucky presses down on the quiet growl of his pride, and nods. “But when we’re on the other side of that I do have some people I’d like you to introduce you to some people, okay? I can’t take you out like I want, but you don’t gotta be a secret.” Bucky’s chest warms, something dumb and sweet on his breath and he smiles because he can’t help it, because it feels significantly nicer than starting a fight.

“Sure, babe. As long as you do get out on the other side, I’m good.” He rubs this thumb over Steve’s knuckles and considers what he wants to say next. Outdated panic lies in the back of his throat but he can ignore it, push it aside, because it hasn’t been relevant since August. “Hey.” He says. “Hey, you know I - I’m really, stupidly into you, you know? As in - you know I love you, right?” Steve looks at him, eyebrows lifted - there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and in the afternoon light he looks like a sunset, golden and pink and sparkling blue and he smiles at Bucky.

“Yeah, Buck.” He says. “I love you, too.”

The ride home is the longest ride Bucky’s even taken, and all he can think of is congratulating his past self on taking an extremely thorough shower. Steve has to go another way, sending Bucky down the elevator with sweet, biting kisses and sweeter promises and Bucky’s really glad the doorman isn’t there to see him adjust himself in his pants. He texts Steve all the way home - _ if you don’t hurry up I’m starting without you _ and _ lucky for you that I put out on the first date _ and _ I love you I love you I love you I love you _but when he practically kicks in the door to his apartment Steve is already there, wrenching off his suit jacket.

“Did you go through my window, you asshole?” Bucky says, doing the same, and Steve laughs into his mouth.

They pull off clothes and shoes on the way to Bucky’s bedroom, and Bucky’s really fucking glad Steve isn’t the kind to insist the suit jackets always be hung up. When Bucky gets his shirt off, Steve pushes him against his bedroom wall and ducks down to get his mouth on his nipples and Bucky chokes on a gasp. He whines when he feels teeth, laughing despite and pulling on Steve’s hair. 

“Baby.” He hisses. “Pretty baby, there’s a bed right behind you. Unless you wanna fuck me against the wall, which - “

“No.” Steve says, coming up to kiss him again. “Want you on a bed.” Honestly, you’d think _ Bucky _was the one who took the detour. He spins them around and walks Bucky backwards, dips him down to the bed. It’s like he insists on touching him all the time, rubbing his hands down his torso and around his waist, grabbing at skin and fat and muscle. Bucky tries to squirm his pants off, but Steve makes an unhappy noise when it dislodges his full-body plank on top of him, and Bucky laughs. 

“Get off me, you dick.” He says, pushing at Steve’s shoulders. “Take your clothes off.” Steve reacts to that, standing up at the end of the bed and pulling off his shirt. Bucky’s simple-minded, a go-for-the-gold kinda guy, so he wrenches off his pants and underwear, sprawling back with his hands clenched in the sheets. Steve looks momentarily distracted, eyes blacking out and zoning in on the spread of Bucky legs, the inside of his thigh. “I’ll let you have it, daddy-o” He says, teasing and cocksure. “You gotta take your pants off first, though.” He regrets the tease a little, because the first thing out of his mouth when Steve gets naked is “You _ gotta _let me suck your dick.” Steve splutters, jerks where he stands and his dick bobs upwards, thick and hard and uncut and Bucky can feel his stupid mouth water. 

“What?” Steve asks, like Bucky asked something completely out of left field, like Steve didn’t suck Bucky’s soul out through his dick two weeks ago. 

Bucky sits up a little, tries not to stare at _ just _Steve’s dick. “Can I?” He asks, and Steve laughs, ducks forward to put a knee on the bed and kiss him. That’s enough of a yes. Bucky manhandles him, gets Steve lying on his bed with his head on the pillow as he settles between his legs. He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the base of Steve’s dick, smiling when he moans and cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “You can move.” He says. “And hold onto my hair. If you choke me too bad I’ll have to punch you in the balls, though.” Steve laughs, sound so honest and broken-open happy that Bucky’s still smiling when he gets his mouth on Steve’s dick. He tongues at his balls, lets spits slide out of his mouth and sucks on skin, pulling. Steve’s watching him with hooded eyes, propped up on the pillows. Batting his eyelashes, a little dumb and a lot coy, he toys around the head with his tongue, pressing into the slit just to feel Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair. 

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice dark, and Bucky shivers. He rubs his tongue down the underside and then sucks him down, humming as he goes. It’s easy to close his eyes and fall into it, the muscles of his throat fluttering when the head presses farther back. Tentatively, he can feel Steve flex his hips, rocking them upwards and he moans at the glide, easy and spit-slick. So Steve does it again - never hard and never too far, just steadily rocking in and out of Bucky’s mouth, hand holding him still. 

“Fuck.” Steve swears, drawn-out fricative. “Jesus, Buck, you look good. Look up at me, honey, show me - Oh, _ good boy _.” Bucky moans and Steve gently pulls him off and up, shushing Bucky’s noises of protest into a kiss.

Bucky kisses back, resting up on his hands and knees now. “I wanna make you come.” He says. “How dare you disturb my craftsmanship.” Steve laughs into his cheek.

“God, you’re a brat.” He gently turns them over and slots in between Bucky’s legs. His cock rubs against the groove of Bucky’s thigh and his eyes flutter. “But the first time you make me come I’d like it to be while I’m fucking you. Is that okay?” And because he is who is, he’s not asking as if it’s dirty talk, he nudges his nose against Bucky’s and asks him to make sure it _ is _okay. Bucky’s in love. Whatever. He nods, and Steve smiles brilliantly, kissing him again. “D’ya have lube?” He asks, and Bucky flutters a hand towards the nightstand on his left, curling a hand around Steve’s bicep as he leans over to get it. 

“Hey.” Bucky says, drunk and heady on kissing and heavy breath, “is this the wrong time to tell you that you kinda made me realize I was gay?” 

Steve leans back, forehead resting on Bucky’s sternum and his shoulders start shaking in a silent laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” He says, pressing it into Bucky’s stomach. Bucky just pets over his hair, shrugging. Steve looks up at him and his eyes shine a little. “Like no one I’ve ever met, swear to God. You gonna lie still and let me prep you?” Bucky’s reminded, time and time again that Steve Rogers is no virgin, but he’s pretty sure they didn’t use words like ‘prep’ for this kinda stuff in the 30s. He could be wrong. Steve sits up on his knees and has him spread his legs further, planting his feet on the bed. “I’d like to see your face.” He says, brushing the back of his hand against Bucky’s cheek. “That okay?” Intimacy shimmers in Bucky’s chest, loud and dangerous and lovely, and he nods, biting down in his lips. 

The sting of the first press of Steve’s finger against his hole is smoothed away by kisses, Steve licking into his mouth. “You take it so well.” Steve whispers. “You been waiting for me, kid?” Bucky grins, bites at Steve’s lip. 

“Took a long, productive shower.” Steve crooks his finger, rubbing up and searching and pleasure zaps, soft and golden down Bucky’s legs when he finds it.

“You know I could hear you, that first time, in your shower. Could hear you say my name.” Bucky remembers. His hands scratch over Steve’s shoulders. “Could hear you moan, could hear you making yourself come. Were you thinking about me?” Circling his finger, massaging against muscle and Bucky groans. He nods.

“I was, I was, _ obviously _.” Steve grins - it’s not like he didn’t know that. 

“Tell me.” He says, like a dare. Bucky blinks his eyes open to glare at him, lust-driven and hot. Fine. He’s not about to get out dirty talked by a guy who was alive when the Andrews Sisters were on the radio for the first time.

“Thought about your hands. Holding me down.” Steve’s hand flexes in Bucky’s hair and he leans over him, covering him. “Thought of this, your fingers in me. God, I thought about your stupid fucking nicknames, I can’t believe how easy I am.” Steve grins against him, sharp in the darkness. His finger withdraws and Bucky’s about to curse at him but it comes back and Steve presses two fingers against him, careful and wet with lube. “Thought, _ oh _ fuck, yeah.” He trails off, mouth gaping. Steve hums an assent against his cheek, a little _ mhm _ as Bucky’s eyes flutter shut.

“That’s right.” He says. “That’s good, honey.” Bucky feels cared for, spoiled and expensive as Steve opens him up, slow and tender - it’s _ romantic _he realizes, ruthlessly intimate, the eye contact, the whispered breaths and he loves it. 

At three fingers he’s groaning, rocking his hips against Steve’s hand. “Fuck me.” He says, eyes opening. “Please, baby. Make me feel it, huh? C’mon, Stevie.” Steve exhales on a hiss and surges down to kiss, Bucky, sweet and deep. They rearrange, and Bucky’s laugh is muffled when Steve won’t stop kissing him, hands on his thighs. “Baby love,” he says, grinning against Steve’s mouth, “I can get on top if your back starts making trouble.” Breaking away, Steve’s mouth is curved up in a sweet, happy smile but his eyes are blown dark and hooded and Bucky feels a shiver over his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, honey.” Steve says. He reaches down between them, leaning on his other hand, and Bucky fits his tongue between his teeth when feels his dick against him, squirming. “I’ll be just fine.” The glide is smooth and slow, but unstopping and Bucky’s hand flex on Steve’s shoulders. His teeth clamp down on his lower lip and he groans, feeling stretched out and lovely, the burn settling in his stomach. Steve kisses his cheek. “Okay?” He says, and Bucky nods.

“You’re perfect. It’s just been awhile.” He angles his head up and Steve kisses him, circling his hips. “Yeah.” Bucky whispers. “Like that.” 

Steve starts rolling his hips, and it’s never been so easy to give himself over to physical feeling. He moans, stupid, stretched out smile on his face whenever Steve’s cock brushes against his sweet spot, bubbling, building pleasure. The pace is slow, molten gold hot, and Bucky’s eyes blink open to find Steve already staring at him. Bucky slides his hands over the sweat on Steve’s shoulders, the nape of his neck. He grins, hitching his hips up and moaning when it makes Steve slide deeper. “You okay, Rogers?” He asks, voice breathy. “I can get on top of you’re losing your rhythm.” Steve’s rhythm doesn’t falter at all, staying smooth and rolling and wonderful, but Steve does smile, head cocked - it reminds Bucky of the day in the shop, months before, seeing Steve humor him, consider him with that indulgent tilt of his head. 

“You know what I think?” Steve says, shifting his weight so he can put one hand on Bucky, rubbing over his nipple like an afterthought. “I think you’re bad at asking for what you want.” Bucky smiles, high on love and lust and knowing when he’s fucked up in the best way.

“Yeah?” He asks, and Steve nods.

“Mhm.” He rearranges then, sits up on his haunches and pulls Bucky with him, down the bed. Bucky’s hands slip away from his shoulders, but he just gathers them and presses them to the pillow above Bucky’s head. Bucky wants to go wide-eyed and shivery but it’s difficult when everything’s going the way you want it to. Steve is leaning over him now, and presses kisses over his throat, up his jawline. “I’ll still give it to you.” He whispers. “I’m nice like that.” He rocks in, hard, and Bucky chokes on a breath. Steve has more leverage like this, and when he starts fucking him again, the pleasure is brighter, snap-sudden and sharp and Bucky strains against the hold on his wrist, smiling when it doesn’t budge. Steve’s other hand rubs over his chest, his stomach, two fingers on the head of his cock and Bucky’s toes curl.

“God, fuck -” His thoughts are nonsensical, going from plotting to wordless in less than a minute. “Fuck, Stevie, oh my god-”

“Yeah, honey.” Steve circles a hand around Bucky’s dick, the slide wet with sweat and precome. “This is what you wanted, right? What did you say you’d thought about?” Bucky laughs, voice stuck in a moan and moves his hips, fucking back against Steve.

“Thought of you - holding me down. Yeah, _ yes _\- thought of you making me take it, like this, fuck.” Steve hums, leans closer. He’s just above Bucky, and Bucky strains his neck to kiss him, but he hovers back, eyes flickering to his lips. There’s sweat on his upper lip and between his brows, and Bucky can feel the breaths pushed out of him on his mouth. He bears down on Steve’s dick, clenching his muscles just to feel the stutter in the breath, Steve’s eyes flickering shut. He leans away a bit, hand going tighter on Bucky’s cock like he’s intent on making him come instead of just feeling good. There’s power in his hips, pushing air and embarrassing sounds out of Bucky’s mouth. The thrusts are smooth and longing, pushing upwards and jolting Bucky up the bed. Bucky feels sparks behind his navel, redwine, sweet, buzzing pleasure at the core of his body.

“Keep your hands there, Buck.” Steve says, pushing at Bucky’s thighs so his legs spread wider with his free hand. Bucky can’t keep his fucking noises down. “That’s it.” Steve says. “Just like that. Feels good when you get what you want, huh? You feel good, honey?”

Bucky’s nodding, biting down on a smile. “Yeah, I’m - yes, perfect, thank you - “ It’s out of his mouth before he can swallow it down, but he feels too fucking good to be embarrassed, mind circling on the build-up of feeling between his thighs. 

Steve coos at him, rubbing a thumb over his slit. “Polite once you’re getting yours, huh. Figures.” Bucky’s eyes are blurry, blinking shut from time to time, but he can see Steve’s face, flushed in the darkness, the damp hair falling over his brow, but he looks more collected than Bucky feels, even with dark, glassy eyes. He’s quiet for a while, looking down between them. His hand moves faster on Bucky’s cock, matching the pace of his hips and Bucky groans, his voice feeling raw in his throat - it’s almost too much, an onslaught of physical feeling he can’t get away from; he’s afraid it’ll hurt when he comes, and yet when he can feel Steve’s eyes back on him his hands twitch. 

“Let me come.” He gasps, opening his eyes all the way. “Stevie, please, I wanna come.” Steve moans, breath hitching and dips down to kiss him once. “Yeah.” he mutters. “God, yeah, put your hands back on me.” Bucky clings to Steve’s shoulders and presses his hips to the bed when Steve tells him to, skin shaking with pleasure and pent-up exertion. He’s moaning, muttering mindless little pleas and Steve keeps fucking in, little shallow thrusts that feel electric, hit perfectly and painfully good. “You can do it.” Steve whispers in Bucky’s ear, fingers now light and careful on his cock. “Let go, let yourself feel it, babydoll.”

Bucky does. It starts in his cock, the base tingling and warming and bright feeling shooting out through his inner thighs. He feels it in his _ blood _, coursing through his body and twitching in his hands, making him dig his nails into the skin of Steve’s back. He screams through grit teeth, pleasure tearing its way through him. Steve is fucking him through it, kissing at his ear, his mouth. 

“Come in me.” Bucky gasps, feeling jittery and weak, content to let Steve take what he needs. Steve gasps, overwhelmed, and hides his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, licking at the sweat there. His thrusts are deep now, hips leaving smarting, tender patches on Bucky’s inner thighs, making a whine build in Bucky’s throat, over-stimulated. “Yes.” He gasps, out of his mind. “Come in me, come on, Steve - “

“Bucky, jesus.” He says, one hand coming up to grab onto Bucky’s intertwining their fingers. “God, sweetheart, you’re lovely, you’re _ perfect _ \- “ He comes with his lips against Bucky’s ear, his pulse pressing against Bucky’s and Bucky moans as he feels his dick pulse, sticky wetness inside of him. He rolls his hips a few times as Steve leans up and kisses him - trading lazy kisses and rocking against each other, coming down. Bucky has to bite back a groan when Steve pulls out, feeling open and used and wet in the best way. He knows he has to go clean up, but he lets Steve pull the blanket over them. They lie curved against each other, fingers meeting aimlessly in between.

“Good?” Bucky asks, and Steve coughs out a low, breathy laugh. He nods, kisses the tips of Bucky’s fingers. 

“Good.” A pause, blinking eyes in the dark. “I love you.” Bucky smiles, stomach bubbling. He tries to remember the last time he felt like this, this weird kind of carefree, easy love - it’s so easy to feel and at the same time he knows the stakes, and knows how fucking devastated he’d be if Steve got hurt, or left him behind. He can’t remember, and looking at Steve’s happy, tired eyes in the darkness, his damp hair mushed against his bed, Bucky’s bed, he finds that he doesn’t really care. He pulls their hands towards him to mirror Steve, pressing a kiss to his fingers. 

“I love you, too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _You take my breath away_ **

It is carefree - and as easy as breathing and as scary as nothing else. 

It’s easy for Bucky to become addicted to it, just a little, wanting to say ‘I love you’ whenever it pops into his mind. Which is often.

He starts talking about the 70s more, knowing that this is likely when he’ll lose Steve a little bit, so they mostly glide through general musical education over dinner with Bucky recommending certain blues and disco bands. Steve says listening to hip-hop makes him feel old. “A lot of it is filthy, too.” He says, with a face like grandpa, and Bucky says “I love you” with his face hidden in Steve’s neck, and Steve says “I love you, too.” 

Bucky talks about Zeppelin and Deep Purple - “Stormbringer’s a pretty solid workout song.” He says, and Steve says “That sounds loud” and Bucky says “God, whatever, old man” and Steve says “I love you” because he’s fucking with him. 

Steve always says it back, or says it first, which makes it a lot easier to deal with. 

It’s scary, because even when Steve says I love you back, the shine in his eyes too bright to be anything but real, Bucky can see his mind go somewhere else. He goes off on missions, but it’s nothing Bucky can read about anywhere so it has to be what he mentioned at the dinner in the Avengers building. 

It’s late October when Steve shows up at the shop, a gorgeous redhead in tow and Bucky feels like the Elton John is too happy for this moment. The redhead doesn’t look at Bucky, just flips the sign in the door over to ‘closed’ and leans against the pane, trailing her eyes over the shop. “Cool.” Bucky says. “I guess I can work with that.” Steve looks apologetic when he rounds the counter to come stand next to Bucky. Apologetic and sad, eyes wide and worried and huh, this sucks all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry about this.” He says, and Bucky has a brief flash of a nightmare imagine, Steve breaking up with him, running away with the gorgeous redhead who Bucky’s pretty sure is an avenger, but then Steve puts a hand on the side of his face, soft. “You remember that thing I told you? That we were doing?” Behind Bucky the woman scoffs, and Steve’s eye flashes over to her, but there’s humor in them. Bucky nods. Steve hesitates a little, looking sad again. “We gotta take some time, just for a bit to figure it out. I’m not gonna be able to text you, and I’m - I’m gonna delete your number, and your messages from my phone, just for a while.” Bucky stirs, taking Steve’s hand away from his face and holding them between his. _ He’s leaving, this is it, this is the other shoe, the penny, whatever - _

“What do I got to do with it?” Steve’s eyes flicker uncertainly, but before he can answer the woman clears her throat. She’s moved closer when Bucky turns around.

“Nothing really.” She explains. “But when we do what we’re about to do you probably don’t want to be easily connected to us.” 

Bucky quirks an eyebrow, surprised, and looks back at Steve. “You breaking the law, Stevie?” But before Steve can look offended, the woman answers for him again. 

“Steve broke a federal law to enroll. This is nothing.” Bucky smiles a little and the woman starts explaining again. “What we’re doing isn’t breaking the law, but that’s mostly because the bad guys tend to operate above and beyond that.” She says _ the bad guys _with an emphasis like it’s a joke, but it also implies that the bad guys in this case aren’t aliens. Bucky thinks back on what Steve said about gray zones. 

He hums, looks back on Steve who just looks grateful to have the woman explain for him. “Will you be safe?” Steve opens his mouth immediately, but Bucky holds up a hand. “Don’t lie to me, Rogers. I know it won’t make me feel better, but I want to know.” Steve hesitates, pausing on a breath. He looks at the woman, eyes saying something that Bucky doesn’t need to know and then back at him. He looks upgiving, apologetic, but he doesn’t say sorry.

“Probably not.” Is what he says, and Bucky’s chest tightens. “We realized something a while ago, and we’re gonna fix it, but it - “

“Rogers.” The woman’s voice is gentle, nothing more than a soft reminder and Steve’s voice snaps shut. The woman comes up to the counter, smiling at Bucky now. It’s barely there, more a suggestion of a smile, but it isn’t hostile. She reaches a hand forward and Bucky takes it, hesitant. “My name’s Natasha.” She says and next to him, Steve jerks. “I should’ve known Steve would be into guys who look like they scale buildings for a living.” Her eyes glide over to Steve, bright and clever and older than her face. “Don’t take too long, cap.” She slides out the door, opening it just wide enough for her to fit through. When Bucky looks back at Steve he’s still blinking owlishly, but his face looks so crestfallen Bucky reaches up for smooth a hand over his cheek. Steve looks back at him and his smile is sad. “She likes you.” He says, laughing. “I’m leaving you alone, and cutting off contact, and Nat actually _ likes _ you.” It hurts Bucky a little too, churning unpleasantly in his stomach but he shrugs, because if he doesn’t he’ll start crying or something stupid. _ He’s leaving - _

He thumbs under the skin of Steve’s eye. No helpful words come to mind, nothing but _ he’s leaving, this is what happens, _no point of reference for when your superhero boyfriend has to leave on a super secret, super dangerous mission so he pulls Steve closer and kisses him. Steve’s hands come up around his neck, pulling at his collar and his hair. “I love you.” Bucky says. “I don’t know if it’s bad luck to say before a mission, but I thought you should know.”

Steve nods, smiling. “It’s my favourite sentence.” He kisses Bucky’s nose, his forehead. “I love you, too, okay? More than anything. It’s pretty crazy.” _ I know how you feel _ , Bucky thinks. He smiles instead. _ He’s leaving, jesus christ - _

Bucky walks Steve to the door, because he thinks Steve would linger until neither of them could bear it. And it sucks, _ fuck _ , Bucky wants to cling to Steve’s legs, wants to hang on to the hem of his shirt, _ I love you, you’re not supposed to leave, _ but he doesn’t. He knocks Steve’s jaw with his fist, real soft when they’re in front of the door, and smiles. 

“I’m here every day but Saturday, Sunday and Monday if you need me.” He says, voice a little weak but Steve laughs. He kisses him again, softly this time. 

“That’s good to know.” Then he walks out the door, looking at Bucky over his shoulder until he can’t.

Bucky texts his boss to let him know he’s sick and closes up early. 

A month passes in mantras and awful, repeating sentences Bucky can’t forget. _ This is what happens _ , won’t leave him alone, like there’s an angry, better-knowing arrogant little gnome inside his head that knew all along that falling for someone was a bad idea. _ He left you _ , is a big one as well, as if Steve didn’t show up with the saddest fucking eyes Bucky’s ever seen since some lady in a pantsuit told him his dad told, as if he didn’t promise Bucky to introduce him to his friends when he came back. _ When _he came back. 

_ You idiot _ is there a lot. It’s mostly Bucky berating himself for falling in love. 

The bottom line is, as he tells Becca, is that he could probably get over Steve. He could exist and be happy if Steve wasn’t his boyfriend. But he doesn’t _ want _to. (And now, when Steve’s somewhere Bucky doesn’t know, doing something Bucky doesn’t get, putting himself in danger, Bucky’s less worried about their relationship, and more worried about Steve fucking dying, because the world will mourn Steve Rogers if he dies. Not as much as Bucky, but still. He doesn’t tell Becca that.)

He has a lot of distractions. His job, and his sister and his friends. He gets a new contact, a Russian university professor he talks to over skype and they chat about the texts he’s supposed to translate, the lectures to go through. He puts in extra hours at the shop which is awful - he’s not sure when just being here started reminding him of Steve, but he wagers it happened somewhere back in July. Old music reminds him of what they’ve already talked about and newer music gives him stupid, unnecessarily dramatic thoughts as if Steve is gonna die without having heard the majesty that is Super Trouper. 

Towards the end of the second week, the kid, Lily, comes back with her mother and buys an old Beyoncé album. Bucky’s making small-talk with the mom, asks about her husband and Chicago, when Lily taps the counter. “Has Captain America come back?” 

Bucky stammers, laughing a little. “He has, yeah. We got a lot of good music here.” 

Lily nods, then wrenches her bag off - it drops to the ground heavy, and she fishes something out of it to put it on the counter. It’s a piece of paper, a drawing done in crayon. It’s pretty obvious what it is. A guy in red-white-and-blue holding hands with a dark-skinned girl, Lily’s little pom poms on her head. “Can you give him this, if we comes back?” Bucky nods, and words get stuck in his throat so he waves goodbye

He cries. It’s not a lot, just enough for his vision to get blurry, but it’s enough. He doesn’t really know what emotion makes him cry. He puts the drawing under his one and only fridge magnet when he comes home. 

Fuck, he misses Steve. 

He’s not even at work when it happens. He’s out with Quill and Gamora, idly watching Quill try and be charming and Gamora stare at her phone when Gamora sits up sharply.

“Fuck.” She says. “Oh, fuck, look at this.” He and Quill lean close to read off of her screen. There’s a picture at the top, a blurry one of a broken building that Bucky can’t quite place. “The Triskelion is falling apart.” Bucky blanches.

“That’s SHIELD.” He says and Quill looks up. 

“SHIELD? The superhero guys?” Gamora rolls her eyes and says something about ‘not just superheros’ but Bucky’s frowning, already going for his own phone. All the news he finds tell him that the reasons are uncertain, but that planes and helicarriers have been seen taking off from the surrounding air space. It’s new, barely an hour old and continuously updated. He sees the name Captain America and his eyes catch on, scrolling to find out more but there’s nothing - Captain America was just seen at the premises. Is this what Steve’s thing was with Natasha? Is this the consequence or the instigating action? Bucky can feel his pulse quicken, hands going tighter around his phone.

His phone buzzes and he swipes the message away before choking on a breath and going back to check it. 

“Buck?” Gamora says, sounding worried, but there’s nothing, _ nothing else _-

There’s a message from Steve. _ Your window was open. Do you have a first-aid kit I can use? _

“I gotta go.” He kisses Gamora on the cheek and fumbles to throw a bill on the table, ignoring them on the way out. His eyes are on his phone, too bright in the darkness outside. He thinks about what Steve said about contacting him, about connections and bad guys, and writes back - _ under the sink. When did we first meet? _

_ In May, I think. I kissed you in August, took you on a date in September. You call me babylove sometimes. Don’t come home just yet, Buck. _

“Screw you, Rogers.” He breaks into a sprint.

His apartment’s not far, and he knows Brooklyn well, especially at night. It’s dark in his apartment when Bucky lets himself in, and panic is gripping at his throat, tight and unyielding for a reason he can’t place. He doesn’t turn on any lights when entering the living room space, but there’s enough light from outside that he sees Steve immediately. Steve’s looking at up him from the couch, hands on his knees and Bucky has to breathe through his nose to calm down, forces himself to swallow the fear. Emotion wells up in his chest, relief and terror and confusion. He has a million questions, and no ways to say them. He pauses in the doorway, wants to gauge a reaction from Steve before doing anything. He gets a slow, fluttery blink in the darkness.

“Hey, pretty eyes.”

Bucky starts moving. “Hey, honey. Did you blow up a building?” Steve laughs, gestures weakly in the air. His suits is open, wrenched off to bundle around his waist, and the first-aid kit is beside him, closed now. Bits of cut-off bandages, drops of blood that look black on his skin in the darkness. He looks like he’s just finished fixing himself up. Bucky moves a little closer before changing his mind and dropping down to take off his shoes. Steve watches him while he does it, eyes wide and blinking. Staying low, Bucky knees towards him, unsettled by the look Steve has. Like he’s reeling, like he’s somewhere else - out there probably, in DC, with whatever scratched him up and made him bleed. He settles in front of Steve, not between his spread legs like he wants to be, and Steve smiles down at him with a little more warmth this time, the sardonic humor draining out. Bucky’s lips twitch. 

“Come back to me.” He says. Steve puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him closer, pressing a soft, careful kiss to his mouth that Bucky didn’t expect.

“Sorry,” Steve says, “for leaving you alone.” Bucky huffs out a laugh and burrows in between Steve’s knees now that it feels safer.

“A job’s a job, right? The citizens of America salute you.”

“Don’t.” Steve’s voice is quiet, a little broken, and Bucky immediately feels like an asshole. He backs away to apologize but Steve just tightens his hand a little, keeping Bucky where he is. “Don’t say sorry either. Just kiss me?” That Bucky can do. Kissing Steve always feels like Bucky’s being glued to the inside of his skin, like he belongs there in a way he doesn’t always feel - like Steve pulls him out of his head and that the only thing that matters is sensory input, immediate feeling. Right now Steve kisses him like he’s hungry, like - like they haven’t seen each other in a lot longer than a month, like there’s something he wants to forget, but all Bucky can focus on is the feeling of his lips, the heat of his skin under Bucky’s hands. Steve pulls a little, with the hand on his nape, and Bucky rises up straight on his knees, close. With his other hand, Steve presses against Bucky’s back, running rough, warm fingertips over his skin and pulling, pushing, so Bucky takes a hint and scrambles to get up in his lap. He opens his eyes, hazy and blinking and Steve doesn’t exactly look sad - the owlish look has been replaced with focus, remnants of adrenaline. There’s no blue left in them, and Steve’s breath is uneven, going out in angry little puffs.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Immediate, curt.

“What do you want to do?” Steve doesn’t answer, shakes his head like he wants to clear it. "Tell me how to make you feel better." Bucky says, voice barely even a whisper in the warm air between them. Steve’s teeth close around the jut of Bucky’s jaw and he whines, hips stuttering.

"God, Buck - "

"Please, tell me what you - " A warm hand folds over Bucky’s mouth, careful, and he quiets. It goes away. Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s thighs, his waist, shaking a little, those blinking eyes flickering over Bucky’s face. He doesn’t look scared - he looks strung-out, like he’s running on leftover adrenaline that doesn’t have anywhere to go.

His eyes land on Bucky’s, wide, black in the darkness. “Can I touch you?” Bucky wants to cry with happiness. It has felt like more than a month. He nods quickly. “You sure?” Steve asks and Bucky smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. 

“Touch me.” He leans back when Steve’s hands find his fly, methodical and quick, pulling Bucky’s pants down just enough to get his hand inside. Bucky hisses at the feeling, Steve’s skin dry against his, so Steve backtracks, holds his hand up. “Lick.” He says, and Bucky does, pushing a noise from Steve’s throat - a self-satisfied mhm that makes Bucky’s spine straighten. He pushes his tongue over Steve’s palm and between his fingers, barely blinking, dragging spit over salty skin. “Yeah.” Steve mumbles, eyes dark. “Good boy.” 

When Steve touches him it’s tight and wet, whole hand curved around his cock, and Bucky starts squirming immediately. “It’s okay, sweetheart, this is just fine. Give me what I want, hm? Be good.” Bucky feels uncoordinated and frantic, which is embarrassing because losing it because of handjobs are a high school thing and not an Educated Homosexual thing, but Steve just coos at him, voice tired and loose, and pulls Bucky’s shirt over his head with his free hand. They’re skin to skin now, warm and touching and Bucky hasn’t felt this good in a month. Steve doesn’t tease this time, keeps his eyes trained on him and he’s - Bucky’s a little surprised to find that dumbfounded adoration behind the adrenaline, the love that he recognizes under all the grime and it calms him down as much as turns him on, as Steve starts moving his hand. “God.” Bucky bites out. “_ Fuck _, Steve I missed you.” Steve laughs, a little breath of air pushing at Bucky’s lips, and he kisses him, feeling his smile.

“I know, honey, I missed you, too.” He says, his other hand running warm and heavy up Bucky’s back, gripping at the nape of his neck. “Thought about you all the time, _ god _, Buck. Missed making you feel good, missed hearing you say please, hearing you cry for me.” Bucky doesn’t know if it’s that or Steve’s thumb on the head of his dick that makes him whine and arch in Steve’s grip. It might be both. His head falls forward to land in the crook of Steve’s neck, and he expects to be yanked back up by the hair but Steve just coos, presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “There we go, babydoll.” He whispers. “Just feel good.” And Bucky does. He lets himself roll his hips where he’s sitting, rub up against Steve’s chest with his arms around his neck, content and comforted in having him here, alive, under him. Steve twists his wrist and Bucky’s mouth falls open against his shoulder, sucking skin between his teeth. Steve moans, other arm circling Bucky’s waist, pressing them closer. “I knew I had to come home to you.” He whispers. “Of course I had to get back to you, baby. How could I be anywhere else? Who else could be this sweet for me? God, I’m never leaving you alone again, I’m gonna keep you here, in my lap, with my hands on you.” In the moment, stupid with feeling good and adrenaline-fueled loving ecstasy, Bucky can only nod, eyes clamped shut. Steve tightens his grip, the movement of his hand making slick-wet sounds in the silence of the apartment, explicit and unquestionable. He breathes out against Bucky’s ear, kissing over the crown of his head. “This is all I need, sweetheart, you being good for me, or being awful and rolling your eyes as long as we end up like this. Show me your eyes, sugar, let me see you.” Bucky straightens up, helpless not to, and blinks at Steve, knowing there are tears in his eyelashes. Steve hums, pulls him in for a kiss. Bucky feels a bite to his lower lip and he startles, groaning.

“I’m - jesus, fuck, Steve, I’m gonna - “

“Come? Yeah, sweetheart, of course you are.” This time Steve does wind his free hand in Bucky’s hair, holding him still. He lets go with the other but only to spit in his palm and the touch returns, spit-slick and wetter than before. “Show me, hm? Let me have it, babydoll, let me see you feel good.” Bucky’s eyes flutter and well up, overcome with pleasure and relief at having Steve home, overwhelmed by the feeling and, and - 

He comes, and it almost hurts, Steve wrenching it out of him with his soft-tipped fingers - Bucky groans through grit teeth, unable to move from Steve’s grip on his hair and he’s blinking through his tears and Steve keeps talking: “Thank you, sweetheart, thank you, god, I love you, Bucky, you’re beautiful- “ until he’s finally allowed to sink forward, pressing his mouth to Steve’s, heavy and loving. Steve changes his grip to wind both arms around Bucky’s middle and he sighs into the kiss and it sounds like breathing out after a long run. They breathe into each other for a while, and Bucky’s just about to say something about the heat underneath him, the hardness in Steve’s suit, when he hears the first quiet hiccup. He’s not sure what it is at first, but then there’s a gasp, and Steve’s shoulders shake a little under his fingers.

“Oh.” Bucky whispers, heart shaking in his chest, and Steve starts crying.

Bucky wants to say a million things - _ oh, baby, Steve, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry _ . There’s praise, loud and heady on the tip of his tongue, and he wants to shower Steve in it, _ you’re perfect, you’re everything, you did so good, you’re a hero, you’re a life-saver, stop crying, baby, honey, sweetheart, please. _He runs his mouth. It’s what he does. But the quiet feels too potent for him to break it, Steve too fragile and shaky in his arms, so he just tries to soak up the tremors the best he can. The night reaches new hues of darkness outside as they sit, Steve coughing out angry, wet sighs into the crook of his neck. Sweat cools over Bucky’s shoulders, makes chills run down over his back and Steve tightens his hold, arms vice-like and ungiving around Bucky’s middle. His hands run over the back of Steve’s head, combing through sweat-matted hair. Eventually, Steve stops crying but Bucky still feels sporadic tremors under the skin that he can’t seem to control.

“You’re okay.” He whispers, voice nothing but a breath next to Steve’s ear. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Steve shakes his hazily, blinking. “I can go home, I’ll send for a car.”

“Maybe.” He keeps his voice soft, subtle, but puts a hand under Steve’s jaw. “But I’d really, really like you to stay with me.” Steve’s eyes flutter, but Bucky doesn’t move until he looks up - wet, red-rimmed eyes, flashing between raw vulnerability and a facade that Steve so desperately wants to put up. Bucky smiles, ignores the tightness in his chest and slowly gets up. “Come on, Rogers.” He says, keeping a hand on Steve on their way to the bedroom. Slow, sluggish, still shaking a little, Steve lets Bucky pull off the rest of his suit and he lets himself be pulled down into bed, resting his head on Bucky’s thigh. “Sleep.” Bucky whispers. “I’ll be here.” Steve sleeps, eventually. Bucky does not.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _My guy_ **

  
  


Even with tears drying in the corners of his eyes and in streaks down his face, Steve is the best thing Bucky’s ever seen. He watches him as light fills his bedroom, slowly - through the night, Steve hasn’t moved from his spot, head cocked to one side to pillow on Bucky thigh, and Bucky’s kept up the soothing circles he’s stroking over Steve’s hair, his cheek, his neck. Bucky breathes in, feeling like the smallest sound would be too loud, and touches a careful fingertip to the curl of Steve’s ear when Steve starts stirring, moving around. His head rolls until he’s lying straight and his eyes blink open. Bucky groans. “All you gotta do is look at me and I’m gone. How’s that fair?” And wonder of wonders, Steve smiles back, a tired, wonky grin, creases over his chin from the sheets, and the corner of his mouth crusty and god, Bucky’s so in love with him. 

“Feeling’s mutual, Buck.” Steve says and he - he sounds uncertain, shaky in his delivery so Bucky runs a finger down the line of his nose. 

“I love you.” He says. Steve’s eyes flutter. “Bathroom’s yours.” He kisses Steve’s forehead, just once, and then inches out of bed, leaving the bedroom without looking back.

In the kitchen, he boils water, eating cereal from the box when the shower turns on. He feels exhausted, shaken from what happened last night, but nonetheless certain in how gone he is for Steve - this new ability to be the vulnerable one, his constant willingness to open his heart and lay his cards on the table, and let himself be hurt is enough to convince him. Steve’s uncertainty is terrifying but this time, Bucky’s not gonna be the one to back out. He knows Steve loves him - has realized that at this point, at least. But he also knows the whole spiel about Steve protecting people from himself and it makes sense from the perspective of a guy who was the only superhero in his time, but really - they’re not that hard to come by these days and Bucky’s not one that Steve can distract with rousing speeches. Bucky took debate in high school. Whatever.

Eventually, Steve comes out of the bedroom, looking soft and sad and apologetic. He’s dressed in some of the clothes he has at Bucky’s place, a shirt and some sweatpants and Bucky wants to hug him, to pull him into his lap but Steve is already speaking. “I’m sorry about last night.” He says. “It was - “ Bucky holds up a hand.

“If you want, you can apologize afterwards, but just so we’re clear,” he says, smiling when Steve’s eyebrows go up. “You don’t get to ditch me, Rogers. Especially not if you think it’s for a noble cause, or whatever. You got me. Okay? I’m with you. End of the line, punk.” Silence, again. He hears wind whipping against his windows, harsh and biting, but everything that matters is in front of him, damp and pink from the shower, looking like he really wants to argue. But Steve’s eyes go soft with that fondness Bucky first saw in the summer, and he nods, coming over to stand behind Bucky. 

“Understood.” He mumbles into his hair. “I love you. Coffee?" Bucky nods, feeling a lovely domesticity settle in his stomach. It won’t be allowed to rest there undisturbed, but for now it’s good, it’s everything.

Bucky looks out at the heavy clouds, sea-blue with cold and starts humming something about sunshine on rainy days.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> listen. this is. a Bitch of a fic. anyway, mostly fun fluffy dating stuff. why did I write it? not sure. Currently being betad/edited by absolute ledge captaindumbass. love u. have fun.  
title from My Guy, from the gay wedding album.  
playlist of Some Songs: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ta8p6MQoq8Bxr62aGoNdp?si=I


End file.
